


a world apart (la vie en rose)

by Springsteen



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen
Summary: Tyson booked a romantic anniversary trip to Paris with his now-ex boyfriend and brings his best friend Nate instead, planning on spending the week eating real French fries to heal his broken heart. While he's there he meets Gabe in a bakery and tries to figure out when his life turned into some kind of romantic comedy, because Gabe is too perfect to be real and there's no way this was actually his life.





	a world apart (la vie en rose)

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing is a work of fiction and even in the theory of infinite universes, none of the events in this fic have ever or will ever happen. Many many thanks to Beth for beta reading and being super supportive through this entire writing process. If you're wondering how much of this fic is me, the author, missing traveling and French bakeries, the answer is yes.
> 
> title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ba_WoSZXvw) gorgeous version of "la vie en rose" and if you're looking for a soundtrack to read to, I suggest [this one.](https://open.spotify.com/user/ktabernilla/playlist/4aPYoVCyoP3Q8QxBYnSd6T)

Paris: the city of light. The city of love. Probably the worst city in the entire universe to get over a breakup. That last one was just Tyson speculating, it wasn’t like a catchy travel brochure slogan or anything. But he was there anyway, and he didn’t cry on the plane at all even though Ian broke up with him a week before they were supposed to leave for this trip together. _I just don’t see this going anywhere_ , he’d texted. _Sorry, but I think we should split up_.

“Shit,” Nate had said, watching Tyson viciously stab at the extra cookie dough in his blizzard. 

“Yeah, just over a fucking year and we were literally going on an anniversary trip next week, but you know, it’s whatever,” Tyson said. The ice cream was mostly melted now, making it harder to stab the cookie dough bits as they swam around. 

“He’s a douchebag,” Nate said. “Let him go backpack across Asia and then come back and live in his parents’ basement, he’s not worth your time.” Tyson glared and didn’t correct Nate, even though Ian had just gotten back from a Habitat for Humanity trip when they’d first met, and was planning another trip for that summer. That was the whole problem, really - Ian was a good person and Tyson kind of wasn’t. (Not that he went around kicking puppies or anything, just that he mostly expressed his love through mocking and bad jokes, while Ian spent a lot of his spare time volunteering and running for charities.)

“This whole stupid trip is all planned out,” Tyson said. “I booked the plane tickets and the hotel and everything. Do you think I can get a refund?”

Nate made a face, reached out and took the mostly-empty cup out of Tyson’s hands. “Why don’t you just go anyways?”

Tyson scoffed. “Spend a week in the most romantic city ever, by myself.” He could use the vacation, for sure - he’d love to get out of town for a while and just relax, but spending an entire week being constantly reminded that he was now single and miserable and probably going to die alone didn’t sound very relaxing to him. He took his ice cream back from Nate and scooped out a chunk of cookie dough, dripping with melted ice cream. There weren’t any chocolate chips in it and it tasted like half-frozen nothing, so apparently everything in his life was a disappointment.

“What if you didn’t go by yourself?” Nate asked. 

Tyson rolled his eyes. “Obviously I’m such a catch,” he said. He could feel ice cream dripping down his face. “Who would even want to go with me?” Not to mention that he doesn’t _want_ to go with anyone else. The person he wanted to go on this trip with broke up with him in a text. 

Nate reached out again, this time taking the spoon out of his hands and stealing a piece of cookie dough. Tyson watched him and realized there was one other person he wouldn’t completely hate going on this trip with. Sure, it wouldn’t be a romantic getaway with his boyfriend, but it could still be a fun trip with his best bro. “Hey, what are you doing next week?”

“I mean, I have work, obviously, but besides that I don’t have any big plans,” he said, tapping his fist on the table. “Wait, why?” Tyson smiled. “Oh, dude no, come on, Tys.” He frowned like Tyson had just asked him to explain rocket science or something. “I don’t wanna go on a week-long date with you. No offense.”

“It wouldn’t be a date, it would be an adventure,” Tyson said. Nate snorted, trying not to laugh, and yeah, that had sounded much better in his head. “Seriously. You’re my best bro, why wouldn’t I wanna go on this vacation with you? It’ll be cool, we can see all the sights - the Eiffel Tower, that one church, uh...”

Nate smiled, and Tyson already knew he’d agree. That’s what best friends are for. “You just want to go to France for the food, don’t you?” Tyson looked down at his sad, melty breakup ice cream. Up until that moment he hadn’t even thought about the fact that French food was supposedly the most famous, most delicious food in the world. “No shit, really?” Nate asked, noticing Tyson’s realization. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not, Nate!” he said. “Now you have to come with me, I need you to help me find the best food in Paris.”

“Oh my god,” Nate muttered. “Yes, fine, okay.” Tyson grinned and reached out to high-five him, but Nate paused. “I’m not kissing you,” he warned.

“Dude, no,” Tyson agreed. “We’re just two bros, going on a trip to Paris. It’ll be great.” Nate reached across the table and high-fived him, still smiling. Between this and the ice cream, Tyson wasn’t feeling quite as upset anymore. Plus, he had all that French food to look forward to.

\--

They made it through the airport and all the way to their hotel despite the fact that neither of them had done well enough at French in school to be able to speak it much. They’d gotten this far with a lot of gestures, their charm, and people pitying them enough to speak English. 

“I was kind of afraid you booked a honeymoon suite or something,” Nate said, pushing open the door to their perfectly ordinary hotel room, no rose petals or champagne anywhere. “For once in your life, you didn’t go totally overboard.”

“Hey,” Tyson protested, flopping down face-first on the giant bed. He really didn’t mind sharing a bed with Nate - they’d been best friends since they met when Tyson had first moved to Denver, and he knew Nate secretly liked cuddling as much as Tyson did. “I can be normal about stuff.” Nate laughed, sitting down next to him on the bed. They’d been traveling for what felt like a million years and their flight had landed stupidly early. He didn’t know about Nate, but all Tyson wanted to right now was sleep.

“You’re not gonna sleep the whole time we’re here, are you?” Nate asked. 

It didn’t sound like a terrible plan, though Tyson also could’ve just done that at home, eating ice cream and being sad on his couch. He could be sad and self-pitying back in Denver, but there was no point in binging on Netflix and ice cream after a ten-hour flight. “No,” he mumbled into the pillow. “We’re gonna eat real French fries and look at fancy buildings and find a mime. But first I’m gonna take a nap.”

“That’s gonna make your jet lag worse,” Nate said. Tyson kicked his shoes off and tried to aim at least one in Nate’s general direction. He flopped around until he was under the covers and pulled one of the pillows over his head. He could still hear Nate muttering, right up until he got under the covers on the other side of the bed and clicked off the light. 

A few hours later, Nate managed to drag him outside. It was a bright spring day, and it turned out Paris was really pretty, tree-lined streets and detailed stone buildings looking like they were straight out of a movie. “Where are we going?” he asked. Nate flipped through the guide book he’d insisted on bringing with them, trying to figure out which map to look at. Tyson kept walking, figuring they’d find something interesting sooner or later.

“Oh my god.” He stopped, Nate crashing into him and cursing when he dropped his guide book. Tyson barely noticed, too busy watching a woman swirling batter onto a griddle and flipping it to make perfect golden crêpes. Once he’d finally picked up the guide book off the sidewalk, Nate stood up next to him and watched, too.

“How many of those are you gonna eat?” he asked.

“One from every crêpe restaurant in this city,” Tyson said. The woman making the crêpes pursed her lips and raised one eyebrow. Tyson glared but managed to stumble his way through a conversation successfully enough to get a Nutella-filled crêpe. Nate refused to order anything but watched Tyson with enough interest that Tyson turned away from him, trying to protect his food.

“Just get your own, oh my god,” he said when Nate reached over his shoulder and tried to steal a bite. 

“I just want a bite,” Nate said, both arms over Tyson’s shoulders now. If this ended up with Tyson dropping the rest of his delicious breakfast on the sidewalk he would actually have to kill Nate, which would ruin the whole trip.

“Fine, fine,” Tyson relented when Nate accidentally smacked him in the face, finally sidestepping away and letting Nate try it. “I would’ve left you in Colorado if I knew you were gonna be such a jerk.”

Nate turned to him, one hundred percent pulling his puppy dog look which was way less effective thanks to the chocolate smeared on his face. “You’re welcome,” Tyson said, aiming for snarky but ending up a lot more fond. He didn’t tell Nate he was glad he came with him, that he didn’t make Tyson go alone or let him binge-watch any real housewives and feel sorry for himself for a week. He didn’t tell Nate what a good friend he was, but he let him share the rest of his crêpe and for Tyson that was basically the same thing.

They kept walking, ducking down a couple of side streets to avoid a gigantic group of American tourists following a terrifying woman wielding a bright red umbrella, and ended up stopping at a terribly French sidewalk café, drinking tiny cups of espresso at one of the tables jammed together on the edge of the cobblestoned street. 

“Wait a minute, Moulin Rouge is a real place?” Tyson had stolen Nate’s guidebook and was flipping through it. “They didn’t make that up?”

“I thought that was a movie,” Nate said, as if he didn’t remember making Tyson watch it multiple times right after his girlfriend moved back to Toronto for grad school and they were trying to make their relationship work long-distance. “We should check it out.”

“Oh, we’re gonna,” Tyson said, folding down the corner of the page. He expected Nate to start complaining, because Nate was weirdly concerned about his books, but he wasn’t even paying attention. Nate was staring off down the street, frowning.

“Do you smell that?” he asked. Tyson took a deep breath. All he could really smell was coffee and the slightly dirty smell most big cities had, until the breeze kicked up.

“Oh my god,” Tyson moaned, standing up and almost knocking over a couple chairs in the process. “Come on, we gotta find that bakery.” He left a few Euros on the table, pushing them under the saucer so they wouldn’t blow away. By the time he’d made it out to the street, Nate was already halfway down the block. Tyson jogged to catch up with him. After a couple wrong turns and a few disappointing minutes at one corner where Tyson honestly thought they might’ve hallucinated this entire situation, they wound up in front of a tiny bakery halfway down a narrow street. Nate was already inside but Tyson took a second to appreciate all the ridiculous things he’d done in his life that had brought him to this point, about to eat his post-breakup feelings by the baguette. 

“Bonjour,” somebody called when Tyson walked inside. He looked up at the guy behind the counter and thought he might have died, because this is a lot what he thought heaven would be like. The guy had definitely said something else but Tyson had no idea what, too distracted by his perfect blond hair and slightly scruffy, almost red beard and his stupidly huge biceps. He and Nate were both looking at Tyson expectantly, but Tyson had forgotten every French word he knew, what he was actually doing there, and his own name.

“I didn’t know Prince Charming worked in a bakery in Paris,” Tyson said, blushing immediately because he has never in his life been able to save himself from saying stupid things to attractive people. The guy laughed, in a way that felt less like he was laughing at him than Tyson had expected, then went back to whatever he was doing before he’d made Tyson seriously consider leaving his job, his friends, and his entire life to move to Paris for the rest of his life.

It turned out what he was doing was making an amazing sandwich on like an entire baguette. He wrapped it up in white paper and set it on the counter next to the cash register, looking up at Tyson. “Anything else?” he asked. Even his English was perfect. Nate stepped on Tyson’s toes, probably to stop him from staring.

“Um, whatever he got,” he said, nodding to Nate. 

“Ham and cheese?” Prince Charming asked, already reaching for bread. Tyson nodded, a little transfixed by his blue eyes. “Butter?”

Tyson’s brain might have stopped working entirely in the face of such hotness and also, now that he finally noticed, a whole lot of delicious bread. “What? On a sandwich?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, like Tyson was the weirdo in this situation. The guy smiled, half charm and half challenge. Tyson clenched his fists and stopped himself from crawling over the counter and blowing him right that second. “It’s really good, I promise.”

Tyson narrowed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, turning his attention to the pastries and rolls along the counter. “What are _those_?” 

Prince Charming set Tyson’s sandwich on the counter next to Nate’s before turning to look at the pastries Tyson pointed at. “ _Pain au chocolat_ ,” he said. “It’s like a croissant stuffed with chocolate.” He grabbed a bag and dropped two pastries in it before Tyson could even ask. He might have just gotten out of a long-term relationship, but Tyson was pretty sure this was love.

“So,” he asked, stepping back to the cash register, “where are you guys from?”

Tyson said, “Canada,” at the same time Nate said, “Colorado.” Tyson sighed. “We’re both Canadian, but we live in Denver.” 

“That’s a cool city,” he said. “You guys here on your honeymoon or something?” Nate looked like he’d just asked him if he’d be supporting Edmonton in the Stanley Cup Playoffs this season. Tyson snorted, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. He didn’t know why - he was feeling a little hysterical, a little sleep deprived, and maybe it was that combination that made him tell this attractive stranger the whole sad story of how he and Nate ended up in Paris. The guy’s eyebrows crept higher the entire time Tyson was talking. For all that he talked, he was never really one to overshare emotionally, but it felt good to tell the whole story. It made him feel less alone for some reason, having someone else (besides Nate) listen to what he was going through.

By the end of his story, the guy was leaning over the counter, his hands folded together as he looked up at Tyson. “After a year, he broke up with you over a text?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Tyson sighed. “So now Nate’s here with me instead, because Nate is a great friend and not a shitty person.”

“I’m Gabe,” he introduced himself, reaching over the counter to shake Nate’s hand, then Tyson’s. 

“Tyson, nice to meet you,” he said. “I guess I’m here to eat my feelings.”

Gabe smiled again, wholly charming and completely overwhelming. “You definitely came to the right place. How long are you guys here?”

“Like a week,” Tyson said.

Gabe nodded. “Seen anything exciting yet? The Louvre? Versailles?” Nate got out his guidebook and he and Gabe flipped through it. Gabe grabbed a pen so he could mark all over it with notes of places to go, writing suggestions in the margins and eventually just flipping to the back cover for more space. Tyson stopped paying attention after a minute, checking out the neat stacks of croissants and other pastries, the baskets filled with baguettes and other loaves of bread in the window; eventually he turned his attention to the people walking by on the sidewalk. He was watching an older couple, the man carrying shopping bags and the woman holding the leash of a big scruffy dog, when Gabe said, “You guys should go here for dinner.” 

Tyson turned back around, went back to the counter and leaned next to Nate as Gabe marked a spot on one of the map pages. “Why?” Tyson asked. Gabe and Nate both looked up at him.

“Because I’ve lived here for five years and I know where the good restaurants are,” Gabe said slowly. 

Tyson rolled his eyes. “I meant what kind of food is it? I didn’t come to France for pizza or whatever.” Nate mumbled something about pizza being good anywhere, so Tyson elbowed him in the ribs to gently suggest he shut the fuck up.

“It’s a bistro,” Gabe said. “Typical French, super -- ”

“Oh, like the restaurant in _Ratatouille_?” Tyson interrupted. Nate laughed, either because Tyson was ridiculous or because as soon as he’d agreed to come on this trip, he and Tyson watched that movie in the name of “research.” 

“I -- ” Gabe started, shaking his head but still smiling. “Yeah, sure, not quite as fancy though. Get the steak-frites.”

“Steak-frites,” Tyson repeated skeptically. In theory at least half of that sounded delicious, but he wouldn’t put it past France to make steak weird somehow.

“Yeah,” Gabe said. “Trust me.” There was that smile again, sharp and confident, almost arrogant, and completely impossible to resist. Tyson was the type of person to oppose on principle, to do what he wanted out of spite, but now he was curious. It shouldn’t matter what restaurants an incredibly hot baker recommended - they were only here for a week and Tyson would never see him again anyways. He was here for new experiences, to forget about everything that had just happened back in Denver and be a different person for a little while - the kind of person who appreciates the finer things in life and spends a lot of time thinking about kissing bakers who look like Disney princes, apparently.

“Thanks, man,” Nate said. Tyson had kind of gotten lost in Gabe’s blue eyes and forgotten about Nate for a minute, but now he’d scooped up their food and his guide book and was heading towards the door. 

“Thanks, Prince Charming!” Tyson called as he followed Nate. He wanted to make sure Gabe remembered him, if nothing else. He glanced back through the window to see him shaking his head, but he waved when he noticed Tyson looking at him. Tyson waved back, narrowly avoiding walking into a parked car. He was pretty sure that happened out of view of the bakery window. He hoped.

Tyson and Nate left the bakery and found their way back to the main street, which ended up leading them right to the Seine. They sat down on a bench on the bank of the river to eat their lunch, watching boats and people pass.

“God damnit,” Tyson said. He’d taken two bites of his sandwich and decided he’d never eat a better sandwich in his life. “He’s a goddamn genius. He couldn’t just be unbearably sexy, he’s gotta be a culinary genius, too. Fucking butter on a sandwich.”

Nate had already finished his sandwich and was eating one of the chocolate things, flakes of pastry stuck to the front of his jacket. He squinted at something over Tyson’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that the Eiffel tower?” 

Tyson turned and yeah, there it was, the top of the Eiffel tower standing out in the skyline. He should probably be taking more pictures, but with his luck he’d drop his phone in the river or something. He chanced it anyway, carefully balancing his food on his knees while he took a couple pictures. He considered sending them to Ian, a sort of _fuck you, my life is great now_ , but he decided he just didn’t care about him anymore. If he didn’t think Tyson belonged in his life then fine, Tyson would move the fuck on. Then he considered sending the pictures he just took to Gabe, which was ridiculous. Gabe lived here, he saw it every day. Of course a beautiful person lived in a beautiful city - it was probably illegal not to be ridiculously attractive and sophisticated if you lived here. “I didn’t know it was possible for a city to actually be perfect,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Nate agreed. “It’s pretty cool.” He was looking at the map again, and Tyson was about to make fun of him for having to be in another country to actually read a book when Nate said, “Notre Dame is right over there.” He looked up, then back at the map, then held the map up in front of him, shoving the book cover in Tyson’s face. “I think.”

Tyson had finished his sandwich but hadn’t tried the pastry yet, and for a second he thought about stuffing the whole thing in his mouth so they could get moving but this seemed like the kind of thing that deserved to be savored. He took a bite and closed his eyes almost involuntarily. “Nate,” he said, licking his lips. “Nate, I need your suitcase.”

“What?” He frowned.

“I need it so I can see how much of that bakery I can bring back with me.” 

Nate rolled his eyes. “You’re insane,” he said, walking towards the nearest flight of steps up to street level. Tyson ignored him and kept eating, enjoying the chocolate croissant and the sunlight sparkling on the water. He debated letting Nate go to all the churches in the city on his own while Tyson just ate his way through Parisian bakeries, but decided that probably wasn’t fair. Finally done eating (for now), Tyson followed Nate back up to the street.

Apparently they were closer to Sainte Chapelle than Notre Dame. The whole city was nothing but churches and bakeries - Tyson would totally check out every bakery but didn’t particularly want to go into all the churches, until he and Nate were standing inside Sainte Chapelle, actually speechless looking at the kaleidoscopic colors of the windows. Tyson has never been a fan of silence, though, and he and Nate leave after a few minutes, taking the time to snap a few more pictures. 

Notre Dame looked exactly like it did in every picture of it Tyson has ever seen. They had to wait to go inside, and by the time they finally did Tyson was instantly overwhelmed. It was enormous, stained glass and stone as far as he could see in every direction. They got trapped behind another tour group, until Tyson finds a sign pointing to the stairs up to the towers. Roughly a billion stairs later, they still hadn’t reached the roof and Tyson was pretty sure he’d die there on an endless twisting staircase. It was freezing when they finally reached the roof walkway thanks to the wind, but Paris stretched out in front of them, lovely and romantic and everything everyone always said. 

“Hey, Nate,” Tyson said, “You wouldn’t text me to tell me we shouldn’t be friends anymore, right?” Nate, who’d been a few steps ahead of him, came back to stand next to Tyson.

“No way, dude,” Nate said, dropping his hand on Tyson’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Did you see the gargoyles from _Hunchback_?”

“No,” Tyson said, practically running over a family of tourists to get to the pair of gargoyles leaning out over the corner. He’d been so distracted by the view of the city and by a sudden feeling of sadness that he hadn’t even noticed them. “Do they sing?”

“I don’t think they sing in the movie,” Nate said.

“Um, I’m pretty sure they do.” They argued about it for the rest of the rooftop walk and all the way back down the stairs. Nate was stopping to read every sign next to every relic, painting, and window, which was fine until Tyson’s stomach started rumbling again. 

“Nate.” He elbowed him in the ribs, trying to distract him from whatever he was learning about a particularly sparkly jewel-covered cross. “Nate, I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Nate said, but he followed Tyson back through the church to the main doors. “This place is really interesting.”

“Yeah? Did you learn a lot?” Tyson asked. He didn’t mean to sound so bitchy but honestly he was a little surprised that Nate was actually interested in learning about history or whatever.

Nate looked at him. They were back out in the courtyard, probably ruining a bunch of people’s pictures of the church. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “Some of that stuff has been there since the Middle Ages. Did you know they started building this in the 1100s?” Tyson turned around, looking back at Notre Dame, and tried to picture people building a place like this almost a thousand years ago. 

“Wow,” he said. “So, uh…” He was walking backwards, hands in his pockets, totally casual. “Where was that place Gabe said we should go for dinner?”

Nate took off his hat and scratched his head. “What? Who’s Gabe?”

Tyson stumbled on the cobblestoned street and turned around. “The guy from the bakery this morning.” Nate squinted at him. “He recommended all those places, he certainly seemed to know what he was talking about. Plus he works in a bakery, it makes total sense that he would know where all the best places to eat are. So what if we just met him this morning? He’s super hot.” Belatedly, Tyson realized that last one might not have been the strongest argument in his favor right now, but it was too late to take it back.

Nate laughed, already flipping through the guide book. “Okay, okay, sure,” he said. Impatient, Tyson yanked the book out of Nate’s hands and flipped to the back cover, staring down at the page in disbelief.

“He gave you his phone number!” he yelled. People were definitely staring at them, but he didn’t care. Beneath a list of restaurants and bars, Gabe had written his name, _Ruelle Boulangerie,_ and a phone number. “Unbelievable. I come to Paris hoping to meet the love of my life and he falls for you.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Nate said, fighting to take the book back. He looked at the map again, frowning at the place Gabe had market that morning. “It’s on the other side of the river, I don’t think it’s too far.” Tyson glared at him. “I thought you were hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” Tyson said, walking toward one of the bridges over the river. 

They’d been walking for a few minutes when Nate said, “He was just being nice, helping out a couple tourists.”

“Sure, Nate,” Tyson said. He was probably right - for all Tyson knew, that was the bakery’s phone number. It’s not like he was actually gonna call it and find out. 

“You didn’t actually come here to find the love of your life, did you?” Nate asked.

Tyson snorted. “No. I don’t know. I don’t speak French, it wouldn’t end well. Seems to be my track record lately.” He did not want to talk about this - half the reason he wanted to go on this trip in the first place was to distract himself from his current relationship problems. “Are we there yet?” Up at the corner he could see a promising red awning out over the street; it felt like they’d been walking forever, and they’d only been in the city for a day.

Tyson did actually find the restaurant on his own, and they got there just as it opened for dinner. He didn’t normally drink wine and when he did it was usually rosé, but he figured when in Paris do as the Parisians, or whatever the phrase was, so he and Nate split a bottle of red with their dinner. “Finally decided to grow up and drink wine?” Nate asked. 

“You know what, I changed my mind,” Tyson said, tearing a piece of bread from the basket on the table. “I don’t want you on this trip anymore, go home.” Nate just laughed, which was incredibly fucking rude.

It turned out “steak-frites” was perfectly cooked, thinly sliced steak, crispy french fries, and a sinful amount of butter. Tyson might have cried a little. Neither of them said anything until they’d both finished eating. Tyson briefly debated licking the plate and also asking for another order, even though he was already very full and very tired. 

“So we’re coming back here for dinner tomorrow, right?” Nate asked. The waiter cleared away their plates, leaving them to finish off the rest of the wine.

“Nah,” Tyson said, leaning back in his chair. “We’re gonna try every restaurant he recommended. We might have to stay longer than a week, hope you don’t have big plans back home.” Nothing mattered anymore, or at least, none of it felt like a problem. Home was a whole world away and honestly Tyson could probably leave it all behind. He could stay here and become a food blogger, probably. That was definitely a thing people did. 

Nate laughed, the quiet huffy laugh he did whenever he thought he was funny. “Are you just gonna take off work indefinitely and move into your favorite bakery?”

Tyson shrugged. It didn’t sound like a terrible plan, if he ignored reality - which was kind of the point of this whole thing, really. “They probably need another food critic in Paris, right? I’m qualified to do that. I know what good food is.”

For a second Nate actually considered it. Really, he should know better by now than to encourage Tyson. “Yeah, they probably do, actually,” he said, like Tyson actually could abandon his entire life to move to Paris, like some kind of Lifetime movie. “Do you wanna take an Uber back to the hotel?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Tyson said, already exhausted by the thought of walking back or trying to figure out the subway after half a bottle of wine. They ended up taking a cab since neither of them could actually use their phones to call an Uber, and by the time they got back to the hotel Nate was asleep with his head leaning against the window. Tyson shook him awake - there was no way he could drag a mostly-asleep Nate to the hotel room - and managed to get him to take his shoes off before he fell asleep again. Tyson didn’t stay up much longer than Nate did, just long enough to take a shower before he fell asleep, Nate’s presence familiar and comforting next to him.

He woke up stupidly early the next morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. He stared at the ceiling for a while trying to fall back asleep anyways, until he realized he could probably go down to breakfast. By the time he’d gotten up and gotten dressed, Nate still hadn’t woken up, and Tyson didn’t feel like waiting for him. As he picked up one of the room keys, he noticed the guide book sitting there. Gabe’s bakery wasn’t too far from the hotel, he thought, and that sounded way better than hotel breakfast. He took a picture of the map with his phone, left a note for Nate, and headed out.

Tyson barely got lost after he left the hotel, which was honestly pretty impressive. He was right - the bakery wasn’t too far. It was crowded when he got there, even though it was still pretty early. Behind the counter, a couple of women were quickly filling orders for customers. There was no sign of Gabe, which was totally not a reason for Tyson to be disappointed. He could still get awesome pastry for breakfast, his day was clearly still starting off on a high note. But when he got to the counter, he couldn’t help himself.

“Hi - uh, bonjour,” he said, feeling a little sorry for the girl who had to try and understand his terrible French. “Qu’est-ce que, oh no wait, um… Est… Gabe… here?”

“Gabriel?” she asked, walking away before Tyson could answer. He should save himself the embarrassment and leave now, find another place to get breakfast, maybe see if Nate was awake and find out how Paris does brunch. He was about to cut his losses and duck outta there when Gabe stepped out of the back, wearing a smudged apron and dusting flour off his hands. He smiled when he saw Tyson, and Tyson’s heartbeat doubled, his heart trying to beat right out of his chest. 

“Back again?” Gabe asked. He looked unfairly good in a faded blue t-shirt, stretched tight around his huge biceps. Baking bread couldn’t possibly be that much of a workout. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

“No, definitely not,” he said. He has never in his life been capable of sounding cool, there wasn’t any point in trying or kidding himself anymore. “Those sandwiches yesterday was really good, so I figured I’d come back for breakfast.”

“Good choice,” Gabe said. Tyson was vaguely aware of other customers moving around him, coming and going quickly on their way to other places, but he was in no hurry. He would be happy to stay here all morning, in this sunny little bakery talking to Gabe the hot baker. “Did you have a good dinner last night?” he asked, a little smug.

“Oh my god,” Tyson groaned, rocking back on his heels. “Is every place in the city that amazing?”

“Only my favorites,” Gabe said, honest-to-god winking at him, just dorky enough to make Tyson really want to kiss the dumb look off his face. He didn’t, but only because there was a counter and several loaves of bread between them. “Did you go for the steak-frites?”

“Yes,” Tyson said, both really into and kind of hating how smug Gabe was about this. “So you really know where all of the best food in the city is? You’re an expert on French cuisine?”

He shrugged, taking a paper bag and filling it up with all kinds of pastries. “Well not an expert, but I moved here a few years ago and I’ve had some time to find places I think are good,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He left the bag on the counter and went back to what must have been the kitchen. When he came back he was carrying a tray full of rolls, still steaming from the oven.

“Here.” He held it out to Tyson, shaking it a little until he took one. Cinnamon clung to his fingertips, big clumps of sugar scattered on top. “I’m trying out some new recipes, traditional Swedish stuff. Let me know if it’s any good.”

“Swedish?” Tyson asked, right before he tried it. It was less sweet than he expected, cinnamon swirled throughout and predictably delicious. Gabe watched him eat, actually looking a little nervous. “Oh wow. Oh man, this is amazing,” Tyson said with his mouth full. “Will you marry me?”

Gabe laughed, and Tyson wanted to bottle up the sound and bring it back as a souvenir, wanted to never leave so he could hear it all the time. “Thanks,” he said. “They’re _kanelbullar_. Cinnamon rolls. I’m from Sweden, moved here to study French baking. And then I end up making Swedish food anyway.” He was still looking at Tyson like he expected him to say something bad about his food, which was completely ridiculous. Gabe set the tray down on the counter and handed the paper bag to Tyson. It smelled too good to resist - Tyson grabbed the first thing he could reach and took it out of the bag.

“What is this?” he asked, already taking a bite. 

“ _Croissant aux amandes_ ,” Gabe said. “Almond croissant.” 

Tyson swallowed and frowned. “I’m allergic to almonds,” he said, fighting to keep a straight face just for the look of complete panic on Gabe’s face. He only lasted a second or two before he started laughing. “No, I’m kidding, this is great, too.” 

Gabe ran his hands through his hair, leaving streaks of flour behind. “Oh my god, you’re an asshole,” he said. Tyson smirked, but he was too busy finishing the croissant to say anything so he probably still looked like an idiot. Only one of them could actually pull off the look of cocky self-assuredness, and it definitely wasn’t Tyson.

“You looked way too worried about my opinion,” Tyson said. He leaned as close as he could over the counter, motioning for Gabe to come closer. Huge mistake - being this close to Gabe was a little overwhelming, but he powered through and kept talking. “Everything you bake is delicious. And I love food, so I have pretty high standards. I’m an aspiring food critic,” he added.

Gabe grinned, stunning and bright from this close. “Thanks,” he said again. “Seriously, it means a lot.” Tyson leaned back before he did something stupid, like brush the flour out of Gabe’s hair or kiss the faint streak of sugar on his cheek. He squinted into the bag instead, trying to figure out what else was in there. “There’s a couple croissants and a _tarte aux pommes_ ,” Gabe said. “An apple tart.”

Tyson wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like fruit in dessert,” he said. He wasn’t a picky eater, but he had standards, or whatever. It was a texture thing - mushy was never delicious, and that was that.

“It’s not dessert, it’s breakfast,” Gabe argued, smiling like he thought he could change Tyson’s mind. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Tyson said. “It’s okay, I’ll give it to Nate.” Gabe was frowning now like Tyson had personally insulted him with his food preferences, and that - he couldn’t have that. He took a deep breath and figured if he’d just ruined whatever relationship they’ve built up in the past day and a half, he might as well take a chance to fuck it up beyond repair. “Hey, do you wanna like, I don’t know, go get drinks or something? Tonight?” Gabe stared at him, eyebrows raised, and yeah that was it. Tyson should leave right now and probably avoid this entire neighborhood just to be safe.

“Like a date?” he asked. Tyson shrugged and mumbled some kind of affirmation. “Yeah, sure,” Gabe said. “I can’t do tonight, though.” He took the bag of pastries back from Tyson, added another Swedish cinnamon thing, and stepped down to the cash register. “Tell you what, one of my friends is having a dinner party tonight. Do you want to come?” Tyson stared at him. He wasn’t stylish or chic or cool, and couldn’t think of a place he’d stand out more than at a Parisian dinner party. Gabe must’ve mistaken his silence for hesitation. “Your friend can come, too,” he added.

“You really wanna be embarrassed by a coupla Canadians?” Tyson asked. 

Gabe frowned. “No, it’s not -” He took one of the bakery’s business cards and wrote an address on the back of it. “It’s just dinner, it’s nothing fancy. Meet me here at 7.” Gabe smiled hopefully and yeah, there was no way Tyson could say no to him. 

Tyson walked back to the hotel in a daze, shocked that Gabe had not only agreed to a date but invited him to a dinner party. He wondered if he’d somehow woken up in a parallel universe.

“There you are,” Nate said as soon as he got back to the hotel room. He dropped his phone on the bed next to him. The tv was on, playing some French talk show Tyson was sure Nate didn’t understand any better than he did. “I thought you died.”

“You did not,” Tyson said, dropping the pastries next to Nate’s phone. “I left you a note, I told you exactly where I was going.”

“No you didn’t,” Nate said, already eating what must have been the apple tart. Tyson lunged across the bed and stole the second cinnamon thing before Nate could get it. They might have been best bros, but that was too good to share. “No coffee?” 

Tyson rolled his eyes. “We can get coffee later,” he said, shifting around until he was comfortable. “We have dinner plans tonight.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to go back to the same place,” Nate said as he finished a croissant. Tyson wasn’t sure if he was actually tasting and appreciating what he was eating, but he wasn’t really one to judge.

“No we’re not, I did say that,” he said. “We uh.” He scratched the back of his head. “So I went back to that bakery we went to yesterday.” He gestured with the cinnamon roll, emphasizing his point. “And I was talking to Gabe and he… invited us to a dinner party at his friend’s house.” Tyson said that last part all in a rush, trying unsuccessfully to avoid Nate’s judgy eyebrows. “Because I asked him out on a date,” he added. That would really help him with getting Nate not to judge his life choices.

“And he turned you down,” Nate said, going for a sympathetic fist bump.

“No, dude, listen to me,” he said, ignoring the fist bump and digging the business card out of his pocket. “He invited us to a dinner party - we’re going.”

Nate took the business card, flipped it over, looked at the address on the back and then up at Tyson. “Should we bring wine or something?”

Tyson panicked. It would be rude to show up empty handed, but he also knew pretty much nothing about wine, besides that if it came in a box it wasn’t that good. At one point early in their friendship he had to explain to Nate that rosé wasn’t red wine and white wine poured into the same glass. “Shit,” he said. There was no way he was gonna force Nate to spend the day finding a wine expert or whatever. “What if we brought, like… chocolate?” Nate shrugged, which was super helpful. “Just our sparkling personalities, then.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Nate said, laughing. Tyson pushed him over. 

“So what are we doing today?” he asked. Nate was the one with the guide book, that made him the one with the plans. Tyson didn’t care as much as long as the food was good. And as long as he didn’t have to pretend to have opinions about modern art, but he was pretty sure Nate wouldn’t do that to him. 

“Did you seriously not plan anything for this trip? At all?” Tyson refused to let Nate judge him when his hair looked like that and he had flakes of pastry stuck to his face. He shrugged - he wasn’t much of a planner, really, he just let life take him on adventures and made things up as he went along. So far it had worked out pretty well. “I figured we could check out Montmartre.”

“Okay,” Tyson said slowly.

“It’s where Moulin Rouge is,” Nate said. “And a bunch of other stuff.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Tyson said, rolling to his feet. “Let’s go get our tourist on.”

“You are so weird,” Nate muttered. Rude, but fair. 

Nate made them stop for coffee on the way to the metro, which was probably a good idea because both of them needed the caffeine to figure out the subway map and the routes. They wasted time when they took a train the wrong way, but eventually they figured it out and got off the metro at a busy stop. 

“Oh my god,” Tyson said once they left the metro station and got out to the street. He grabbed Nate’s shoulder and shook him. “You can tell everybody this is your song,” he sang. Nate tried to duck away but Tyson grabbed his other arm and danced with him down the street, right up to the Moulin Rouge. “It may be quite simple but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words-”

“I really do mind,” Nate said, resigned to letting Tyson dance him around the street. “Please stop.” 

Tyson let go of him and stopped his terrible attempt at a waltz. “Fine, Nate, don’t let me shower you in compliments. You’re the worst.” He did take pictures of Tyson in front of the Moulin Rouge though, that Tyson was totally gonna send to his mom.

“That didn’t look anything like the movie,” Nate said as they walked along steep cobbled streets past street performers and souvenir shops. It was a weird neighborhood - they turned down one street lined with skeevy clubs and sex shops, and then took another turn onto a steep flight of stairs leading up to cafés and clothes stores. 

“You could have warned me about the mountain climbing we’d be doing,” Tyson said at the top of one flight. He leaned against the corner of a building, catching his breath, and looked down at a garden tucked off the stairs below. 

Nate shrugged and kept eating the fries he’d bought from a street vendor. He kept jostling Tyson as he tried to steal a few. “You could’ve read the guide book, and you would have known about the hill,” Nate said. “Or just the Wikipedia article.”

“Yeah, and you could’ve stayed in Denver,” Tyson called, walking away. He didn’t really know where they were going, other than uphill, but that didn’t stop him. 

Once they finally reached the top of the hill, they stepped into a square crowded with artists and tourists and looked up at another church. Nate insisted they ride on the carousel at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the church that was apparently in some French movie an old girlfriend had made him watch.

“The movie was about this carousel?” Tyson asked, leaning over to talk to Nate and almost falling off his horse.

“No,” he said. “I don’t really remember it, it was all in French. It was weird.” 

“But you remembered enough that we had to ride this carousel,” Tyson said. The city spun around them edged by little lights, and the music playing through the speakers was the same cheery, mechanical stuff they played on carousels all over the world. They got off the carousel and went up the steps to Sacré-Coeur. Even though it was cloudy today, the view of the city was still pretty awesome. He made Nate take a couple selfies with him and then ended up taking some pictures for a family who were too polite to actually ask but clearly wanted to get a group photo.

Back in the square at the bottom of the steps, Tyson waited in line behind a bunch of little kids to buy gelato shaped like a flower. They wandered through the artists’ stands, and Tyson had to talk Nate out of getting a caricature done by a guy who was clearly mediocre at best. “I’ll draw your caricature,” Tyson said, still working on the gelato. 

“But I want it to actually look like me,” he said. “You can’t do that.”

“Sure I can,” Tyson argued. “Blue eyes, big nose, duck face, done. Simple.”

“You are so mean,” Nate said. Tyson shrugged and helped Nate pick out a couple of prints for his family.

“Finally gonna take down that Drake poster, eh?” Nate shoved him just hard enough that he stumbled into a grumpy-looking couple. “Sorry, sorry, my friend here is ignoring my perfectly reasonable advice,” he said. They just glared and kept walking. “Sheesh, rude.” Tyson got a print for his sister, too, figuring she’d never forgive him if he came back from this trip and didn’t get her anything.

They stopped at a café somewhere on the way back down the hill for lunch, where Tyson realized he’d only eaten desserts all day. He ordered a ham and cheese omelet, didn’t realize it came with a salad, and stole french fries from Nate’s plate whenever he wasn’t looking. On their way back to the metro station, Tyson made them stop at a super tacky souvenir store. He got a mini Moulin Rouge for his mom and a little Paris snow globe for his desk at work. 

“You need this,” Tyson said, pointing at a three foot model of the Eiffel Tower.

“Nope,” Nate said, spinning a rack of keychains and not even looking at Tyson.

“No come on, you don’t even see what I’m pointing at,” Tyson argued.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nate said. “I know I don’t need whatever it is.”

“Fine,” Tyson said, “Be the lamest person in Paris.” Tyson turned and noticed the back wall was covered in t-shirts. One of them even had a carousel. “Oh, Nate, look you need --”

“No,” Nate said. Sometimes Tyson was convinced Nate was actually a seventy year old man trapped in a twenty-two year old’s body and he just needed to spend some time playing shuffleboard in Florida or whatever. Or he just needed to get laid, but that one wasn’t a problem for Tyson to solve personally. Instead, he bought Nate a gelato because he knew from numerous experiences that it was impossible to stay sad while eating ice cream. He seemed less grumpy after that.

Back at the hotel, Nate opened the window to let in the breeze and turned on the tv, flipping through channels without pausing long on anything. Tyson didn’t mean to but he fell asleep, jet lag still fucking up his sleep schedule. By the time he woke up from his nap, Nate had fallen asleep, too, the tv still on and the window still open. He checked the time on his phone and almost rolled off the bed - they probably needed to leave five minutes ago if they were gonna get to dinner on time.

“Nate, what the fuck,” Tyson said, punching his shoulder. That probably wasn’t the nicest way to wake him up, but he was panicking now. “Come on, Nate, wake up or I’m leaving you here.”

“What do you want,” Nate groaned, batting at Tyson’s arms.

“Do you know where we’re going for dinner? Like, where’s the apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Nate said. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Are we really doing that?”

“Yes,” Tyson said, digging through his suitcase. He didn’t bring anything really nice with him - he was here with Nate, he hadn’t been planning on going anywhere fancy or needing to impress anyone. He found his nicest jeans and a shirt that wasn’t super rank or wrinkled from being in his suitcase, and ignored Nate mocking him as he fixed his hair even if it was kind of useless. 

“It’s only three stops away on the subway,” Nate called. A second later he was leaning in the door of the bathroom, holding his phone. “Seriously, Tys, I’m gonna tell him we were late because you were fixing your hair.”

“No you’re not,” Tyson said, pushing past Nate and grabbing his jacket. “Look, I’m ready, let’s go.”

“So are you not gonna do anything about the pillow marks on your face then?” 

Tyson rubbed furiously at his cheek, glaring at Nate as they left the hotel. This time they didn’t get lost on the metro, and soon enough they were walking through a busy neighborhood, lots of people walking past on their way to the cafés and bars all along the street. They turned onto a quieter side street, Tyson trying to figure out where they were with a zoomed-in screenshotted version of the map on his phone. It wasn’t ideal but he was making it work, and they found the address without too much trouble.

They stood at the door of a building that looked just like all the other apartment buildings in the city. Tyson was suddenly aware of all of the ways this could go terribly, horribly wrong - this could be some hilarious prank Gabe has played on a lot of dumb tourists. Their passports could get stolen, or he could get himself and Nate kidnapped by a big blond Swedish viking. He could feel the Stockholm syndrome coming on already. He started laughing at his own mental joke, and Nate looked at him. “What’s so funny?” 

Before he could even try to explain, somebody clapped him on the shoulder and he definitely did not jump in surprise. “Hey, you came.” Tyson turned to look at Gabe, whose hand was still on his shoulder, and wondered what the fuck he’d done to deserve this. Gabe looked like a movie star, or a porn star, in a black button-down with the top few buttons undone and impossibly tight pants. Dazed, Tyson wondered how many stairs Gabe could even do in those pants before they just gave up and came apart at the seams. He could relate to that feeling.

“Hey, man,” Nate said, distracting Tyson from his creepy staring. “How’s it going?” Nate could have a perfectly normal conversation right now because he was clueless and straight and probably not imagining ripping Gabe’s shirt off and eating cake off his abs. 

“’Sup,” Tyson said, still pathologically unable to even fake cool. He listened to Nate and Gabe’s small talk and followed them into the building, where they waited for a tiny, cramped elevator and took it to the top floor. 

“Hope you don’t mind a bit of a breeze,” Gabe said, smiling as he led them up one final, narrow flight of stairs. His pants did not spontaneously rip apart, much to Tyson’s chagrin, but for the moment he was too distracted by their destination to really be that upset by it. At the top of the stairs, out on the roof a battered table was set for dinner, several bottles of wine and baskets of bread spread across it. Twinkle lights stretched above the space, candles flickered on the table, and the city glowed around them.

“Wow,” Nate said. “Sorry about crashing your date.”

Tyson just stared, grabbing Nate’s arm as Gabe left them to sit with his friends. “Hey Nate? How did we become friends?” he asked.

“What?” Nate squinted at him, smiling a little like he thought Tyson was joking. 

“Just answer the question,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Yes!” For once in his life, he wasn’t joking and this wasn’t a laughing matter. He needed to hear Nate’s answer.

Nate sighed, scratching his head. “Uh, it was at a hockey game. You were drunk and yelling at everyone, and then you looked at me and said ‘this guy would’ve scored on that breakaway, look at those hands’ - which is still the weirdest thing anyone has said to me.” Tyson rolled his eyes. That was years ago, someone had to have said something weirder to Nate after that. Tyson had probably said weirder things to him during their friendship. “Why?”

“Just checking we’re not in some parallel universe,” Tyson said. “Because there’s no way this is my real life right now.”

Nate frowned. “What if this is a parallel universe where we met the same way but you’re actually cool or popular or whatever?”

Tyson stared at him. Nate actually having good comebacks supported his parallel universe theory - usually they were terrible and lame. “Yeah well if I was cool I wouldn’t be friends with you,” he said, which wasn’t even true. He and Nate would probably always be best friends, no matter what universe they were in. Nate turned back to look at him and Tyson realized he was still standing at the top of the stairs, staring out at the roof. “That’s not true, I’d still be friends with you,” he muttered when he caught up to him. 

There were only a few empty chairs left at the table, so Tyson sat down next to Gabe. He smiled and introduced them to his friends, who were all as stupidly attractive as Gabe himself. Tyson felt like he stood out like a sore thumb.

“So are you liking Paris so far?” Gabe asked, leaning in front of Tyson to fill his wine glass. He even smelled good, like some kind of woodsy expensive cologne and, faintly, like fresh bread. Tyson forgot the question for a second.

“Yeah, it’s been cool,” he said. On his other side, Nate was talking to a pretty girl with long dark hair, and Tyson felt a little less bad about ignoring him and talking to Gabe all night. 

“What’s been your favorite part?” he asked. “I know it’s only been a couple days, but something’s gotta stand out.” 

He took a sip of wine, trying to calm down. Having all of Gabe’s attention on him was a little intense. “Guess,” he said, hoping Gabe wouldn’t notice his knee bouncing nervously under the table. 

Gabe definitely noticed, since he put his hand on Tyson’s knee to still him. “Is it the bakery?” he asked, grinning. 

Tyson snorted. “Wow, you are confident,” he said. He wasn’t entirely wrong - the food was obviously his favorite thing about Paris, but he could say that about any city he’d been to.

Gabe raised an eyebrow and squared his shoulders. “Is there something wrong with being confident?” he asked. 

“Uh, no,” Tyson said, and he was saved from some dumbass comment about how he would be stupidly confident too if he looked like Gabe did by a couple people carrying plates of food to the table. Gabe jumped up to help, and Tyson listened to the couple across from him talk about something, understanding about every fifth word. One of them asked him a question and Tyson clumsily explained he didn’t speak French.

“ _Ah, désolé_ ,” the woman said. “How long have you known Gabe?”

“Um.” He considered lying, making up some nonexistent relationship that would at least make this situation seem less insane, but figured it would be more trouble than it was worth. “Two days, I guess. Me and Nate are only here for the week.” The woman’s eyebrows climbed up towards her brilliantly red hair, but she quickly hid her expression behind the rim of her wine glass. Tyson was saved from further scrutiny by Gabe sitting back down next to him with a big salad bowl.

“Hungry?” he asked. 

“Starving,” Tyson said, refusing to feel judged as he piled his plate with roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and bread. By now Tyson was starting to suspect that French people were just born knowing how to cook, like other people were born to be athletes or artists. “Oh my god,” Tyson mumbled, trying to decide whether or not it would be rude to just pick up the chicken bones and eat from them. 

“You like it?” Gabe asked. Tyson paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and waited for Gabe to tell him he had actually spent all day cooking, that he was some kind of world-famous Swedish chef and Tyson was an idiot for not recognizing him. “When I first moved here, I was living in this tiny apartment, going to school and working all the time, and every day I’d walk past this restaurant on the way home.” Gabe set down his silverware and leaned on the table. “It smelled amazing, it was always busy, and I knew there was no way I could afford to eat there. And one day I was on my way to work at the bakery. It was probably four in the morning, I was barely awake, and I crashed right into this poor woman carrying a whole basket of lettuce, straight from a farm outside the city.” Gabe grinned. “Though if you let her tell the story, she’ll say she ran into me.” He shrugged. “I helped her pick up what we could, and then I helped her unload the rest of her delivery. She insisted I come back for dinner that night.” He gestured down the table to an older woman, short hair streaked with gray, holding her hand to her chest as she laughed. “So that’s how I met Pauline, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

Tyson was vaguely aware that he was still holding his fork in midair, dripping sauce on his plate. “Are you telling me you’re bffs with one of the best chefs in Paris?” he asked. He shoved the food in his mouth, consoling himself since apparently some people got to live in Paris and go to rooftop dinner parties thrown by actual famous chefs all the time, and other people had to go back to their marketing jobs in Denver in a few days. It was probably still snowing in Colorado, too.

Tyson reached out for the bread basket at the same time Gabe reached for the wine bottle. Their hands knocked together and Gabe’s wine glass teetered dangerously, tipping over and spilling all over Gabe.

“Oh shit,” Tyson said, way too loudly for the classy people at this table. He threw his napkin on Gabe’s arm, trying to fix it. “That was totally my fault, I’m sorry -”

“No, it was definitely me,” Gabe said. Tyson stood up, planning to get more napkins or something, and almost crashed into Gabe when he stood up a second later. “Stay, don’t let your food get cold.”

“No, let me help you,” Tyson said. He didn’t really know what he could do to help, but he followed Gabe anyway, down two flights of stairs and into a clean, airy apartment, down the hall to the bathroom. Tyson didn’t know where anything was here, didn’t even know why he insisted on helping in the first place as Gabe struggled to undo his cufflinks.

“Here,” Tyson said, stepping closer. His hands barely shook as he held Gabe by the wrist and undid one cufflink, then the other, setting them on the bathroom counter. 

“Thanks,” Gabe said quietly, shaking out his sleeve and leaning over the sink, turning on the faucet. Tyson went back to the hallway and opened a random cabinet, finding the towels on his second try. He grabbed one and brought it back to Gabe, stopping short in the bathroom door. Gabe had taken his shirt off and was rinsing it under the sink, his chest washed with gold in the soft light. He looked up and saw him, and Tyson knew he’d been caught staring. For once he had nothing to say, no excuse for it. He reached out to throw in the towel, literally, and get back to dinner upstairs. 

Gabe grabbed his hand instead of the towel and pulled him forward, hard enough that he stumbled and caught himself with his hand on Gabe’s chest. He had about half a second to process what just happened when Gabe leaned in and kissed him. Tyson’s eyes were still open and he had been ready to step back and apologize, but he switched gears fast, leaning into Gabe and kissing him back. Tyson could feel Gabe leaving wet handprints along his back but he didn’t care at all, not when he could feel Gabe’s beard faintly scratching his cheek, his hands buried in Gabe’s glorious, perfect hair. 

With his hands on Tyson’s waist, he pushed him back against the counter. Tyson slid his hands into Gabe’s back pockets and drew him closer, grinning when he felt Gabe gasp against his lips. He thought about climbing up on the counter but settled for leaning heavily against it, spreading his legs wide enough for Gabe to press between them. One of them groaned and Tyson honestly didn’t know who, too caught up in the feeling of Gabe’s lips against his neck, trailing kisses down his throat. He was positive he would be covered in beard burn but it was absolutely worth it to have his hands on Gabe’s ass, his hips rocking against Tyson’s steadily pushing every other thought out of his head.

Something clattered to the floor. A peal of laughter came through an open window. Gabe looked up, eyes bright and wild. Tyson couldn’t resist kissing him again, trying to memorize the feeling of Gabe’s lips against his and his hands all over him. There was no way he’d be kissed like this, by someone so laughably out of his league, ever again. 

“We should get back,” Gabe said, his lips just below Tyson’s ear and breath tickling against his neck.

“Who cares,” Tyson said. “They all know what we’re doing, I’m sure.” Or if they hadn’t guessed, they definitely would after one look at the two of them.

“It’s rude to leave in the middle of dinner,” Gabe said. He couldn’t argue with that, even though Gabe was still holding him, his fingers ruining any semblance of style Tyson’s hair had. He took a step back. Tyson instantly missed his warmth. “You go back up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Your shirt is soaking wet,” Tyson said. At some point it had gotten knocked into the sink. He had completely forgotten that was why they came down here in the first place. “What are you gonna do, go finish dinner shirtless?” His friends might judge him but Tyson really, really wouldn’t mind. 

“I’m gonna borrow one,” Gabe said, smirking a little like he could tell what Tyson was thinking. He walked away, leaving Tyson to attempt to fix his hair and pick up the towel he’d dropped. Gabe’s cufflinks were on the floor, too, simple gold discs glinting against the tile. He grabbed them and went to find Gabe. 

He was in the hall just outside a bedroom, buttoning a crisp white shirt. “Here,” Tyson said, holding out the cufflinks before he could do anything stupid. Instead of taking them, Gabe held out his arm and let Tyson fix his cuffs. “Don’t tell me you can’t do this yourself,” Tyson said. He could easily picture some gorgeous girl doing this for him, would’ve thought Gabe would have preferred that if he hadn’t been kissing Tyson senseless a minute ago.

“No, I can,” Gabe said, holding out his other wrist. “I just like this better.” Tyson was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. No one said shit like that in real life, especially not to him. He was still holding Gabe’s wrist, wondering if he could get away with kissing him again and convincing him not to go back to dinner when the apartment door opened. Pauline walked in, carrying a stack of dirty dishes.

“ _Tiens, qu’est-ce qui se passe ici_?” she said. Whatever she’d just asked made Gabe actually blush. He pulled his hand from Tyson’s grip, squeezing Tyson’s hand gently before following Pauline into the kitchen. Tyson made one last attempt to fix his hair, gave up, and went back up to the roof. He knew he was blushing when he sat down next to Nate and he couldn’t keep the dorky grin off his face. 

Nate didn’t even notice at first, still talking to the girl on his left. When he finally noticed he frowned and turned to him. “Did you…”

“Make out with Gabe in a bathroom, yeah,” Tyson said, still grinning. “Yeah I did.”

Nate shook his head but grinned and fist bumped Tyson subtly between their chairs. “Congrats?” he said. “That’s like, wow.”

“Oh, I know,” Tyson said. He still couldn’t believe it had really happened, but his face and neck tingled with beard burn to prove it. Gabe came back onto the roof a few minutes later carrying a plate. As he sat down, he ran his hand across Tyson’s shoulders, casual and possessive. Tyson shivered. He wrinkled his nose when he noticed what Gabe had just set down on the table. “What is that?”

“A cheese platter,” Gabe said. His arm was still resting across the back of Tyson’s chair, just brushing his shoulders. It was more than a little distracting. “It’s, um, old-school French.” He was waving his free hand around as he talked, and Tyson was fighting the urge to grab his hand and hold him still. He would probably knock something over, again. “Like a dessert.”

“What!” Tyson said. “Cheese is _not_ dessert.” He wasn’t insulted, exactly, but he had definitely gotten used to associating Gabe with delicious, sugary foods, and this was not at all what he wanted. (What he really wanted was Gabe, naked and feeding him cake, but at the moment he would settle for just cake.)

Gabe shrugged. “Yeah, you know, it’s rich, creamy -” Tyson really had a problem now, thinking Gabe sounded sexy when he talked about food. “It’s kinda like ice cream.”

Tyson snorted. “It is nothing like ice cream, you absolute moron,” he said. He mentally rewound what he said and wondered if anyone would notice if he crawled under the table and died. Next to him Gabe was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, so Tyson figured he couldn’t be that mad about being called a moron.

“You have some really strong opinions about food,” Gabe said, wiping his eyes. “Just try it.”

He frowned. “No thanks, I don’t like grapes,” he said.

“Those grapes aren’t even touching anything,” Nate said. At the same time Gabe said, “Are you seriously turning down dessert?” 

Tyson glared at both of them and shoved a random piece of cheese in his mouth to shut them up. Big mistake - it was disgusting. Nate and Gabe were laughing at him again as he chugged the rest of his wine trying to get the taste of dirty socks out of his mouth. “That is nothing like ice cream you filthy liar.” He might have been yelling a little; other people at the table were staring at him. 

Before he could do something ridiculous like stick his tongue out or smush some of the gross cheese in Gabe’s beard, the sky lit up with dozens of twinkling lights, distracting everyone at the table. At first he thought it was fireworks, but after a few seconds he realized it was the Eiffel tower all lit up and glittering. “Oh, come on,” Tyson said. “Are you fucking kidding me? Is this for real?”

“Oh wow,” Nate said, standing up and going over to the railing to get a better look. Tyson followed him and stood next to him as he recorded it on his phone. “This is so cool,” he said once he realized Tyson was standing there.

“Am I dreaming?” Tyson asked. “Is this real life?”

“Pretty sure it’s real,” Nate said as he punched him in the arm gently. Tyson staggered away, right into Gabe.

“So this is just every day for you, huh?” he asked, nodding to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah, actually,” Gabe said. “Some days it’s more special than others.” The way he smiled at him made Tyson feel warm and tingly all the way down to his toes.

“Oh,” Tyson said, flustered and suddenly so overwhelmed by the beauty of the city and Gabe’s general existence that he kind of felt like crying. He didn’t; he stood and watched the rest of the light show with one arm around Nate and the other around Gabe. 

“Come on,” Gabe said, gently squeezing Tyson’s side once the lights of the city had gone back to normal. He turned back to the table.

“Mm, no thanks,” Tyson said. He refilled his wine glass, and then, since he figured it was the polite thing to do, refilled Gabe’s and Nate’s glasses as well. There seemed to be an endless supply of wine bottles on the table and Tyson should probably stop before he went from “pleasantly relaxed” to “will serenade people and try to kiss everyone” but he probably could have a couple more glasses before he reached that point. 

“You don’t want dessert?” Gabe asked, picking up his and Tyson’s wine glasses and heading toward the stairs. The party seemed to be moving back down to the apartment.

“No, I don’t want the cheese you’re claiming is ‘dessert’,” he said. 

“Oh, that wasn’t dessert,” Gabe said, a huge smug smile on his face. Tyson stopped walking and stared at him for long enough that he and Gabe were now the only people left on the roof. 

“You said it was dessert!” he yelped. “The worst dessert ever!”

Gabe frowned, pretending to think about it and trying way too hard. He was a terrible actor. Tyson was glad there was actually something he was bad at. “No, I said it was _like_ a dessert,” he said, completely failing at hiding a smile. Tyson wanted to punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With his lips. 

“I hate you,” he grumbled, stomping towards him. “You’re the worst.” Gabe was still grinning, laughing a little, and Tyson truly couldn’t stand it anymore. He marched right up to him, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him. His smile faded against Tyson’s lips, Gabe leaning easily into his touch. It was a little awkward since Gabe was still holding both of their glasses but Tyson just pressed as close as he could.

Gabe stopped kissing him just long enough to mumble, “You’re gonna make me spill wine on my shirt again.”

“Good,” Tyson said. He tried to pull him in for another kiss but Gabe kept talking.

“You really don’t want dessert, huh?” he asked. “I know we only met a couple days ago but I have a hard time believing that.” 

He tried to narrow his eyes at Gabe, but this close he just ended up going a little cross-eyed. “If it’s more cheese, you’re never seeing me again,” he said. Abruptly he realized that in a few days he really would never see Gabe again - Tyson would have to go back home while Gabe stayed here living his outrageously perfect life in Paris. He came here to avoid heartache, not to dive headfirst into more of it. Swallowing down a sudden surge of emotion, Tyson kissed him again, hard and a little desperate. Gabe responded enthusiastically, managing to get his arms around Tyson without spilling any of the wine. At this point, Tyson didn’t care at all.

“Dude, you’re missing really killer chocolate soufflé - oh.” The door banged open as Nate leaned out onto the roof, his cheeks red. “Sorry.” 

“You’re keeping me from chocolate soufflé?” Tyson demanded, putting some distance between them with his hands on Gabe’s chest.

“I tried to tell you,” Gabe said, shrugging. Tyson could feel his muscles move under his hands and needed to remind himself Nate did not need to see him groping anybody. 

“Is there any left?” he asked.

“Yeah, they’re saving some for you guys,” Nate said. He was still holding the door open, a long rectangle of light spilling onto the roof. 

“I can’t believe you tried to stop me from eating chocolate,” Tyson said as he stepped away from Gabe. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that was definitely all me,” he said sarcastically, following Nate and Tyson back downstairs to the apartment. “How could I, I’m such a terrible person.”

“Hey, at least you know your faults,” Tyson said. He heard Gabe sigh irritatedly behind him but he didn’t turn around. He was on a chocolate-fueled mission. 

The apartment looked much smaller now with several more people crowded inside it. He followed Nate all the way to the kitchen, where Pauline handed him a small plate with a knowing smile. Tyson chose to ignore her look and take a huge bite of soufflé instead. He definitely moaned, spoon still in his mouth, but he was enjoying himself too much to be embarrassed by it. It was airy and decadent, still warm from the oven, and maybe the best thing he had eaten in Paris so far.

“Did you make this?” he asked Pauline, his mouth still full. She nodded. He kissed both of her cheeks, turned back to Gabe and said, “This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.” Maybe he was a little drunker than he thought. Gabe raised an eyebrow, which Tyson has never in his life been able to pull off and made him feel more jealous than judged. He set down both wine glasses on the counter so he could eat his own dessert, maintaining an almost uncomfortable amount of eye contact as he did. Tyson could feel himself blushing but didn’t look away. 

“Okay I’m just gonna… not stand here.” Tyson had honestly forgotten Nate was still there, right next to him, witnessing this… whatever this was between him and Gabe. 

“No, dude, don’t,” Tyson said. “I can eat this so normally.” 

Nate mumbled something about whatever his issue was but stayed in the kitchen with them. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Nate started telling them about the weird guy who sits in the cubicle across from him at work, detailing all of the annoying things he’d done since he got moved to that desk last month. Tyson had heard some of the stories before but he laughed anyway, and Nate’s goofy laugh always made him laugh even harder.

After a while Tyson looked around and realized that the apartment was mostly empty. He had no idea what time it was but it must have been pretty late. Everyone else must have left already and he hadn’t noticed. “Guess we should probably head out, huh,” he said. Nate yawned, making Tyson feel even worse for keeping him out past his old man bedtime. “Seriously, Nathan?”

“I’m still jet-lagged,” he protested. Tyson rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe that for a second, Nate just liked to sleep too much. They headed for the door anyway.

“I’ll walk you out,” Gabe said, brushing his hand across Tyson’s back as he held the door open for them and followed them out into the stairwell. They found a cab pretty easily outside the building. 

“Have a good night,” Gabe said as Nate clambered into the car, Tyson right behind him. “Get home safe.” 

Tyson was about to close the door when he decided he couldn’t just leave Gabe standing there on the sidewalk like that. “Wait, wait wait wait,” he said, ignoring Nate asking what the hell he was doing as he got back out of the car.

“Did you forget something?” Gabe asked, adorably confused. Tyson didn’t say something dumb about forgetting his heart, but only because he was already kissing Gabe goodnight. 

“You are ridiculous,” Gabe said. His hands were pressed warmly against Tyson’s sides, his smile bright in the dim streetlights.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Tyson said. He did, soft and sweet. Tyson never wanted to leave.

“Good night, Tyson,” Gabe said, gently pushing him towards the cab.

“Night, Gabe,” he said as he got back into the car. “Sweet dreams!” He leaned back against the seat happily.

“Just so you know, I told the driver to leave you but he wouldn’t drive because you left the car door open,” Nate said. Tyson leaned over until he was sort of cuddled against Nate, slumped over uncomfortably across the backseat. 

“Nate,” he said. “Nathan. Nathaniel. You are my best friend in the entire world.” He couldn’t remember how many glasses of wine he’d had, but he was finally starting to feel it. “You are so brave and so strong. Thank you for coming here with me.” Nate snorted, but Tyson was pretty sure he wasn’t glaring anymore. It was kind of hard to tell from this angle. “Tomorrow we can do whatever you want.” 

“Thanks, Tys,” Nate said. He didn’t sound too happy, but he was definitely smiling now. “Please get off me.” Tyson sat back up and patted Nate’s arm. He smiled, lips still tingling from Gabe’s kisses as he watched the lights of the city slide past the car windows.

The next morning, Nate woke him up at what had to be the crack of dawn. “What,” Tyson moaned. “Are we dying?”

Nate shook his shoulder again, trying to actually get him to wake up. “Tys, come on, I wanna go to Versailles.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Tyson said, trying to yank the blankets back over his head. After a few seconds of struggle, Nate gave up and Tyson fell back asleep. It was great - he was dreaming about the beach, the sun warm and the tide rolling calmly. It was fucking serene, and all of a sudden he was freezing cold and awake because Nate had pulled the blankets off of him. Something crinkled when it landed on his chest.

“Your new boyfriend says hey,” Nate said. 

Tyson sat up immediately. “You saw Gabe? Without me?”

“No,” Nate said, sitting down at the tiny desk by the window and eating a croissant. “I went to the bakery across the street, I just wanted you to get up.” Tyson flopped back onto the mattress dramatically. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tys, it’s like 9am, come on.”

“I can’t believe you lied to me about seeing Gabe,” he said to the ceiling. Nate was banging around the hotel room and throwing clothes on the bed. It took Tyson a minute to realize they were his. There was no point trying to sleep anymore; Nate had clearly made up his mind. 

“Okay, fine,” Tyson said as he got out of bed. “Let me take a shower and then we can go wherever.”

“Versailles,” Nate said. He threw another t-shirt at Tyson, now just doing it to be annoying.

“I still don’t know what you’re saying,” he said on his way to the bathroom. He couldn’t see him, but he heard Nate sigh and could picture the exact face he was making.

“It’s a huge castle,” Nate said. “It’s, like, really famous.” After his shower, Tyson googled Versailles on his phone and was forced to admit he did actually know what Nate was talking about now. He ate his breakfast on the way to the train station and planned to fall asleep on the train. Instead, he ended up watching the suburbs fly past in blurs of gray and green. 

They had to walk through a little town to get to the actual castle, and once they got there Tyson stopped just inside the gates. “I thought you said this was a castle,” he said to Nate. The word “castle” made him think of, like, old stone buildings with turrets and moats and dragons. This was definitely not that. It was just the biggest, fanciest mansion Tyson had ever seen, and maybe to ever exist in this universe.

Between the house and the enormous, sprawling gardens, they spent the entire day there. Tyson kept trying to dare Nate to sit on any of the furniture in a louder and louder voice until a volunteer guide started following them around, squinting suspiciously and coughing any time either of them got too close to touching anything old and fancy. 

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, Tyson understood why Nate had wanted to leave so early that morning. They’d finally made it through the house and eaten lunch, just as the clouds cleared and the sun came out. Apparently they had to see the gardens, too, which were crowded and enormous.

“Dare you to jump in the fountain,” Tyson said as they wandered. There were like a million fountains all over the garden. Most of them had statues in the middle in really ridiculous poses. Tyson tried to imitate the closest one. Nate rolled his eyes and splashed him with his water bottle. Tyson yelled and chased him down the path. 

They ended up running right into a hedge maze and wasted an embarrassing amount of time trying to get back out again. By the time they finally made it back to the main entrance, the sun was starting to set, Tyson has taken literally a thousand pictures, and he might be a little sunburned. Nate, for once, was the one who wouldn’t shut up about how hungry he was, so they stopped in a McDonald’s by the train station just for the novelty of it. Even in France McDonald’s had fries and McFlurries, so Tyson chalked that one up to a win.

On the train on the way back to the city, Tyson took Nate’s guide book (that he had actually brought with them for some stupid reason) and flipped to the back cover, figuring out which of Gabe’s favorite restaurants was closest to their hotel. “Are you serious?” Nate asked. Tyson thought he’d fallen asleep against the window, but he was watching him flip through the book. “Dude, I am so tired.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson said. “But we’re only here for a couple more days and I am not missing out on probably the best food I will ever eat in my entire life, dude. No way.”

“There’s good food in Denver, too,” Nate said, but Tyson knew he’d agree. There was no way Nate would ever turn down food. He sighed, slouching back against the window. “Sure, fine. Wake me up when we get there.”

Tyson was a good friend, so he did wake Nate up when they got back to the train station, and he also figured out which subway they needed to take back to their hotel all on his own. Nate managed to wake up by the time they got to the restaurant though, and he wouldn’t share any of his French onion soup with Tyson, which was just rude. 

“It’s too good,” Nate said. “I’m not sharing with you.”

Tyson frowned. “Are you telling me I don’t deserve the best?” Nate laughed at his willful misunderstanding, but he did share a crème brûlée with him for dessert. By now the waiter definitely assumed they were on a date, but whatever. Tyson could share fancy burned custard with his best bro in a completely platonic way. He would’ve liked to share dessert with Gabe in a deeply romantic and slightly sexual way, but that wasn’t happening tonight. He didn’t come to Paris to fall in love with a Swedish baker, but this was his life: a little unbelievable, mostly embarrassing. 

On the way back to the hotel Nate said, “I know neither of us know shit about art, but I kinda wanna go to one of the museums.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Tyson agreed, full and sleepy and just happy Nate was happy to be here with him. “Not the Louvre, though. I feel like that’s too much.” Versailles had been cool, but there was no way he could spend an entire day wandering around a museum without going insane. He’d touch some piece of priceless art just to get kicked out and make his day more exciting and Nate probably wouldn’t bail him out of French jail.

Nate made a face at him. “You are so weird, but okay.” Once they got back to their room, Nate went into the bathroom, probably to take a shower. Tyson dropped onto the bed, flipping through channels on tv. He’d found some weird French version of Chopped by the time Nate sat down next to him.

“We should do this more often,” Nate said. 

Tyson rolled onto his side to look at him. “What, hang out in the hotel room?” he asked. On the tv, one of the contestants had gotten out a blowtorch. Tyson thought they were supposed to be making soups. This show made no sense.

“No, dude, travel. Rome sounds like a cool city.” Nate shrugged. “Plus, like, pizza. Spaghetti. Gelato.”

“You’re just naming Italian food,” Tyson said. In Nate’s defense, it was a pretty effective way to convince him to go somewhere. Sure this trip was amazing and he totally wanted to travel more with Nate, but it was also expensive and he couldn’t actually afford to quit his job and become a travel blogger or a food critic or whatever. “Tell you what, buddy,” he said. “Next time you can plan an elaborate trip with your girlfriend and then when she texts you that it’s over, you’ll know who to bring instead.”

“Dude, harsh,” Nate said, ruffling Tyson’s hair. “I mean we could, like, plan a trip like normal people. Next year or whatever.”

Onscreen, blowtorch guy had been replaced by a lady who was absolutely shredding carrots with the biggest knife Tyson had ever seen. It was a little terrifying. “Sure, Nate,” he said, mesmerized by the tv. “Let’s travel the world together.”

Nate shoved Tyson’s shoulder until he fell on his back. “I was serious!” he said.

“So was I,” Tyson yelled. “Stop hitting me, oh my God.” Nate was still hitting his shoulder; Tyson grabbed the closest pillow and hit him with it. “I thought you were tired! Why are you like this?” Nate wrestled the pillow away from him, punched it a few times and settled down to sleep.

“Night, buddy,” Tyson said sarcastically.

Nate clicked off the light on his side of the room. “Night, Tys,” he said softly, already half-asleep. During their entire friendship, they’d never really been able to stay mad at each other longer than thirty seconds. Honestly, he would totally go on another barely-planned trip with Nate, sudden breakup or not.

The next morning, Nate convinced him to just eat at the continental hotel breakfast so they could get to whatever museum that wasn’t the Louvre. It made sense, but at the same time, Tyson had a craving for a really specific chocolate croissant served with a dazzling smile. He had been prepared to feel pathetic and sad on this trip, but not because he’d fallen for the hottest guy on the planet in a Parisian bakery. He literally met Gabe three days ago and he wanted to see him again. He almost felt _bad_ because he hasn’t seen him since the dinner party the day before yesterday. He hasn’t kissed him since then, either, and that was a tragedy - one he really hoped to resolve before he went back to Denver. 

The museum Nate picked was a huge building along the bank of the Seine. “You didn’t trick me and bring me to the Louvre, did you?” Tyson asked.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’ve been in my house,” he said. “You _know_ I don’t know anything about art either and I’m not planning on spending the whole day lost in the world’s biggest museum, so chill out. This is the Musée D’Orsay.”

“The what? The musay dor-kay?” Tyson asked.

“Yeah,” Nate said. “It’s the lamest museum ever, it’s just a bunch of pictures of your face.”

“Okay, that was mean and uncalled for,” Tyson said, stomping across the street to the museum entrance. 

It wasn’t as bad as Tyson expected - for some reason, he thought he would spend all day looking at seven paintings of a chair in different colors or some shit. A lot of these paintings were just pretty, and he even recognized some of them. He thought he was going a little crazy, though, because after a while he started thinking a lot of the portraits looked like Gabe. He’d pointed it out to Nate so many times that Nate pushed him right up to one painting, just far away enough to not set off any alarms.

“Look, Tys, it’s just a bunch of blobs of paint,” he argued. “It doesn’t look like anything!”

Tyson scoffed. “Gabe is not a full-on Monet, nice try.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, man,” Nate said. Tyson sighed. Sometimes he forgot that Nate was younger than he was and hadn’t seen some of the greatest movies ever made. He had to remember to make Nate come over for a movie night when they were back home. 

He stopped in front of a painting he actually recognized. “Hey, isn’t this the guy who cut off his ear?” he asked. Nate shrugged. “It kinda looks like -”

“Don’t say it,” Nate moaned.

“- Claude Giroux,” Tyson said. Nate stared at him, then at the painting. He started laughing so hard he had to lean on Tyson’s shoulder to stay upright and other people were giving them weird looks.

“It totally does,” Nate said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh my god it totally does.” He finally stood up again so he could take a picture of the painting before they moved on. 

They left the museum in the middle of the afternoon and headed back to the hotel, wandering along the river on the way. Tyson honestly didn’t intend to, but somehow he ended up leading them down the street where Gabe’s bakery was. He really shouldn’t have expected anything - by this time of day all the bakeries were closed, anyway, but hope still propelled him along. Look, Tyson knew he was being ridiculous. He didn’t need Nate’s worried glances or his own common sense to tell him what a stupid idea it was to fall for a guy he barely even knew who lived halfway around the world. Still, when he looked up and saw Gabe walking down the street, he felt the whole heart-clenching butterflies-in-his-stomach head-over-heels bullshit he would’ve sworn only existed in the romance novels he pretended not to borrow from his mom whenever he went home.

Gabe smiled when he noticed Tyson standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Hey,” he said, clearly surprised. “Sorry, the bakery’s closed. We sold out of everything about an hour ago.”

Tyson shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I’m not hungry anyways,” he said. He ignored Nate rolling his eyes but couldn’t hide his blush when Gabe raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Tyson shrugged again. “Okay, fine. I didn’t come here hoping for croissants.” Gabe smirked. Tyson’s knees felt weak and he was still blushing. “So, uh, done with work. Any big plans tonight?” he asked. Tyson honestly didn’t think he could be more of an embarrassment to himself if he tried. 

“Not really, no,” Gabe said, his smile turning a little sad. “I have to be back here really early tomorrow so I’m probably just going to sleep.”

“Oh cool cool cool,” Tyson said. Nate had left him to make a fool of himself and was checking out some clothes store across the street. “That’s fun.”

“Sure,” Gabe said, trying not to laugh. He stepped closer to him, resting his hand on Tyson’s arm. His hand was warm, his eyes were incredibly blue, and it was all very overwhelming. Tyson remembered the last time Gabe’s hands were on him, when they had made out in a bathroom. It would really ruin this vacation if he got arrested for public indecency right now but honestly it might be worth it. “Hey, my shift is over early tomorrow - do you wanna meet me here around noon and we can do something?” Gabe asked.

Tyson’s jaw dropped. “I - what? Like a… did you just as me on a date?” Gabe was really laughing now, leaning against him a little. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling so brightly Tyson couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Tyson, do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow afternoon?”

“Okay,” Tyson said, a little dazed.

“Cool,” Gabe said. Tyson was at least seventy percent sure Gabe wasn’t mocking him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” Tyson said, nodding and heading off in the direction he’d seen Nate go. “See you.”

He’d barely taken a few steps when Gabe called, “Hey, Tyson.” Tyson turned to Gabe, surprised to see him right in front of him. His hands settled easily on Tyson’s waist and he pulled him in for a kiss in the middle of the street. He had no idea who was responsible for turning his life into a goddamn movie, but he wasn’t complaining. He grabbed Gabe’s shoulders and kissed him back, enthusiastic bordering on desperate. When he tried to deepen the kiss Gabe pulled away, smirking again. 

“See you tomorrow, Tyson,” he said. He kissed him sweetly on the cheek and walked away, hands in his pockets. Tyson was pretty sure he was whistling to himself. He really should hate how smug he was; it definitely should not turn him on as much as it did. Still, he hummed to himself as he went into the store Nate was in, feeling only a little ridiculous.

“That’s hideous, bud,” he said when he found Nate looking at racks of shirts. It had rhinestones on it.

“Yeah I was gonna get it for you,” Nate said without looking up. “So how’s your _ami_?”

“We’re going on a date tomorrow,” he said, too happy to bother chirping Nate about practicing his French on DuoLingo. 

“Oh nice!” Nate said. He held up a different, equally hideous shirt. “You should get this, then.” He was laughing before Tyson could even say anything. 

“Only if you wear these,” Tyson said, grabbing the first thing he saw: an awful pair of studded ripped jeans. Now that he looked around, he thought they might be in the women’s section. He expected Nate to laugh, but he looked like he was actually considering trying on the jeans. Tyson shoved everything back on the rack and dragged him out of the store. 

At dinner that night, as soon as Tyson found out the restaurant served sangria he ordered a pitcher for himself. Let the whole world judge him, he didn’t give a fuck.

“I’m pretty sure sangria’s not French,” Nate said, watching him pour his first glass. “Isn’t it Greek or something?”

“Don’t care,” Tyson said. “It’s delicious, that’s all that matters.”

Halfway through the pitcher, Tyson decided he was moving to Paris not because of Gabe but because the entire city was so beautiful, and the food was incredible, and his life had meaning. He was trying to convince Nate to move with him but it wasn’t working out so well. “Come on, man, you can walk down the street every day and see _that_.” He gestured out the window, where he could just barely see Notre Dame all lit up. He sighed happily.

Nate shrugged. “I don’t know, we’ve got the mountains back home, those are pretty. Plus there’s hiking and stuff, that’s cool.”

Tyson flapped his hands, not realizing he almost knocked a stack of plates out of a passing waiter’s hands as he did it. “City… urban hiking, that’s a thing. We walked all over this city. There was that one mountain, with the carousel!” 

“Dude, are you okay?” Nate asked, leaning across the table. Tyson grabbed his wine glass before Nate could do something stupid and mean like try and take it away from him. 

“I am great,” Tyson said. “The happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.” Nate seemed awfully interested in his food, and it took Tyson a couple seconds to realize it was because he was giggling and trying to hide it. “What? Why are you laughing?” Nate just shook his head and shoved a forkful of potatoes in his mouth. 

By the time he poured the last of the pitcher into his glass, Tyson had to admit he was a little drunk, bordering on sloppy. “Nate,” he said. “Naaaaaate, I have a date. Tomorrow. With Sexy Swedish Gabe.” He narrowly missed putting his elbow directly into the chocolate sauce on his plate. “God, he’s so pretty, he’s so sexy I just wanna suck his -”

“Nope, stop,” Nate said. “I’m really happy for you but I do not need to hear this.” Tyson fished a sangria-soaked orange slice out of his glass and ate it, leaving the rind with a small pile of its brethren on the table. It was really good sangria - maybe he should’ve shared it with Nate. Nate was such a good friend, he definitely deserved some. Tyson picked up his glass and realized it was empty.

“Oh,” he said quietly. He looked up at Nate. “Do you hate me?”

Nate frowned, squinting at him. He’d had a couple of beers with dinner but probably wasn’t as drunk as Tyson was. “Do I hate you?” he asked. Tyson tilted his empty wine glass sadly. “No, dude of course not. Why would I hate you?”

Tyson kind of shrugged, keeping his shoulders hunched up by his ears. “Because I’m ditching you to go on a date with a guy I just met and I dragged you to Paris even though I know you’d rather go to the beach and I drank all my sangria before I could share it with you even though it’s really good,” he said all in a rush.

Nate blinked at him. “It’s really okay that you didn’t share your sangria, that shit is gross,” he said. He scratched his head and said, “Tys, you just got out of a long relationship and he was a dick about it. If you wanna drink terrible alcohol and sleep with every guy in Paris, I’m not gonna stop you. You shouldn’t feel bad about trying to be happy.” 

Tyson bit his lip, furiously trying not to cry in the middle of a restaurant. “I wish France had Dairy Queen,” he said once he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to start crying into his empty glass. 

“You just had chocolate crêpes,” Nate said. Tyson made a face at him - Nate should know by now that no matter what, Tyson always wanted dessert. “Come on, I’m sure we can get ice cream from room service.”

Tyson scraped up the last of the chocolate sauce on his plate with his fork. “Sure, that sounds good,” he said. “Thanks.”

Once they got back to the hotel room, he did order ice cream from room service. He shared it with Nate because he knew Nate liked ice cream just as much as he did even though he never said anything about it. He wanted to blame the sugar for the reason he couldn’t sleep that night, but he knew it was because he was nervous about tomorrow. It was ridiculous - Gabe definitely liked him. Tyson was like, at least seventy percent sure. Maybe a solid seventy-five percent. Tyson liked him way too much for the amount of time they’d known each other. He still didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he was addicted to making Gabe laugh and he definitely wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to do a lot more than kiss him, really - wanted to know how Gabe tasted, wanted to feel his hands in his hair when Tyson was on his knees for him, wanted to hear Gabe desperate and on edge and saying his name. 

He really needed to stop thinking about sex with Gabe when Nate was asleep next to him. They’d been friends for years and Tyson knew Nate could sleep through anything up to and including Tyson drunkenly scream-singing Céline Dion at four am, but jerking off next to him while he was asleep would probably push their friendship from “super close” to “really fucking weird, Tyson, what the fuck.” Instead he rolled over and watched the faint lights of the city through the curtains until he eventually fell asleep. 

It was drizzling the next afternoon when he met Gabe outside the bakery, which seemed like a bad sign. Tyson hadn’t packed an umbrella, so he huddled in his jacket under an awning while he waited. He probably looked like a total creep. 

“Hey,” Gabe said, walking out of the bakery with an umbrella. “You could’ve come in, you know.” He stepped right up to Tyson and kissed his cheek. “How are you?”

“Fi - good,” Tyson stuttered. “You?” Gabe steered him down the street, one hand on Tyson’s back and the other holding the umbrella over their heads. 

“Good,” Gabe said, smiling. Even the edge of his smile as they walked next to each other was overwhelming. “So, you still liking Paris?”

“Are you - you’re kidding, right?” Tyson asked. “It’s like a movie or a book or something.” They walked past a florist, buckets of flowers spilling out under the awning. 

“Yeah,” Gabe said. “It’s kind of magical, a bit.” He slid his arm around Tyson’s waist, pulling him closer to his side. “Are you hungry?” he asked, teasing. Tyson had, in fact, eaten a pretty big breakfast earlier that morning with Nate. He didn’t know what Gabe had planned and didn’t want to assume it would involve food. He didn’t think he could survive the embarrassment of getting hangry on a date with Gabe. 

“Yeah, I could eat,” Tyson said, trying to sound casual. Gabe smirked. “I’m not literally always hungry, Mr. Hot Guy I Just Met Three Days Ago.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Gabe said, laughing. “I thought I’d show you a little less touristy part of Paris, but the weather’s kind of ruining my plans.” 

“I don’t really mind it,” Tyson said. It reminded him of home, of long winters growing up in Victoria when it never stopped raining. The rain let up as they walked, but Gabe still kept his arm around Tyson and held the umbrella over them. 

“So I was planning on having a picnic,” Gabe said, leading Tyson through a busy food market, “but I guess that might have been a dumb idea, with the weather.”

“Still sounds pretty great to me,” Tyson said, checking out a vegetable stand. Everything looked so perfect it couldn’t possibly be real. 

“Oh,” Gabe said, startled. “Okay. Great.” The market was covered and too noisy to hear the rain; several booths piled with fruits and vegetables blocked their view of the street. It was barely raining when they entered the market, but Tyson knew better than to hope for actual sunshine. “Sure, we can still do a picnic.”

They wandered through the market, picking up supplies. Tyson tried to get as many free samples as he could. Gabe laughed at him until Tyson managed to sweet-talk a handful of berries from an old lady who wanted to practice her English with him. “See, I can be charming, too,” he said, eating his handful of blueberries. 

“I never said you weren’t,” Gabe said, raising an eyebrow. He smiled, leaning close. “Actually, I only date charming people.” 

“I - oh, um,” Tyson stuttered, blushing. Yeah he was definitely proving how charming he could be right now. “Look at you, you don’t even need to be charming with a face like that.” Tyson closed his mouth so fast his teeth clacked. He seriously considered diving behind the nearest vendor’s booth. Whenever things were going well, he always had to go and say the wrong thing. 

Gabe was still smiling at him. “You don’t think I’m charming?” he asked. Tyson pressed his lips together, afraid to let himself say anything. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.” Tyson felt himself blush even more as Gabe put his hand on Tyson’s lower back again and told him about the vendors and the food with his lips just brushing Tyson’s ear. He really shouldn’t have challenged Gabe, because him actually trying to charm Tyson was going to kill him. 

“Come on,” Gabe said. “There’s a flea market section, too.”

“Awesome, I love old useless crap,” Tyson said. “I mean antiques.” When Gabe laughed, he curled into Tyson. He could feel him shaking with it, and this was just as dangerous as Gabe’s lips against his ear. His heart fluttered and he kept walking, not letting himself dwell on the feeling.

There was just as much old useless crap in the flea market as Tyson expected. He spent way too long trying to make a monocle stay on his face just to hear Gabe keep laughing.

“You know, my backup plan was to take you to the opera,” Gabe said. “That really would’ve completed your outfit.”

“Really?” Tyson asked, almost dropping the monocle. He could only handle so much art and culture in a week; he probably would’ve fallen asleep or tried to sing along or something. 

“No,” Gabe said. “Definitely not my thing at all. Are you an opera fan?”

“Um, if you count Disney movies,” Tyson said, returning the monocle to the box of mostly broken eyeglasses it came out of. 

“There’s hardly any songs in those,” Gabe said. Tyson turned to stare at him so confusedly that Gabe actually started to blush, a faint pink spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t seen that many,” he said defensively. “No one sings in _Ratatouille_. Stop looking at me like that.”

Tyson just barely resisted the temptation to ask Gabe to list every Disney movie he’d seen, but they managed to have a normal, adult conversation about movies as they walked through the flea market and looped back to the food vendors. All afternoon Gabe kept his hands on Tyson as much as he could, guiding him with a broad hand across his back or touching his shoulder to get his attention. He actually looked a little disappointed when they started buying food for their picnic and his hands were full. Tyson watched him struggle for a minute before he took the bag and, before he chickened out, grabbed Gabe’s hand and laced their fingers together. He pretended to look around as he did it, but he didn’t miss Gabe’s blinding smile in response. 

It had actually stopped raining by the time they left the market. Gabe brought them to a park not far away, tiny metal tables along gravel paths and rain still dripping off the leaves. They set up their picnic on the driest table they could find. Tyson didn’t even remember when they’d bought half this food, but now their table was covered with bread and cheese and pepperoni and at some point Gabe must have bought wine, because he handed a glass to Tyson with a smile. 

“Did you bring this from the bakery?” Tyson asked after he’d already eaten a giant piece of bread. 

Gabe shook his head. “No, there are actually other bakers in Paris,” he said, laughing at his own lame joke. 

“Oh wow, thanks for explaining that to me,” Tyson said. “You should be a tour guide or something.”

“You know, I actually thought about that,” he said. “I had just moved here, this was before I started working at the bakery, and there are a lot of places looking for tour guides. It helps if you can speak six languages.”

Tyson missed the table with his arm, trying to rest his chin on his hand, and pitched forward. “You speak six languages?” he asked, resting his elbow on his knee instead and hoping like hell Gabe didn’t notice him looking like an idiot. Gabe most definitely had, with the way he was judging Tyson with his eyebrows. 

“No,” he said. “Well, only three really fluently, but then Norwegian and Danish are so close to Swedish I can usually figure it out pretty easily.” 

“Oh sure,” Tyson said as he made a mini-sandwich with bread, pepperoni and cheese. “My name’s Gabe and I’m perfect in literally every possible way.”

Gabe shook his head, smiling. “Definitely not, but thanks,” he said. If Gabe had serious faults, Tyson needed to know what they were before he did something he would really regret, like try and pack Gabe in his suitcase to bring him back to Denver or tell him he was pretty sure he was in love with him even though this was their first official date. Or second, if Tyson counted the dinner party from the other night.

Gabe bit his lip, looking lost in thought. “I’d never worked in a bakery before I moved here,” he said. “My second day on the job, the shift started at four am. I was barely awake and my French wasn’t that great yet, and I was mixing doughs. But I put salt instead of sugar in the brioche dough, and sugar instead of salt in the baguette dough. None of it turned out at all, it was awful.”

“Are you saying your biggest fault is that you fucked up on your second day of work?” Tyson asked. “That’s not even a fault, that’s just, like, being an adult.” 

Gabe leaned back in his seat. “Maybe I’m trying not to look bad in front of the guy I really like,” he said. “Did you think of that?”

Tyson scoffed. “Well, too late for me, I’ve already made a fool of myself at least twice today,” he said. “And yet you like me anyway.”

“Yeah, I do,” Gabe said, smiling. “It’s because you’re incredibly charming.” Tyson rolled his eyes. “No, seriously, you’re hilarious. And you’ve got a really great smile. Honestly, Tyson, you’re kind of irresistible.” 

Tyson’s face felt like it was on fire and he had absolutely no idea what to say. He leaned across the table and kissed Gabe instead, affection and warmth and happiness bubbling in his chest. Gabe brought his hand to Tyson’s face, his fingers resting lightly against his jaw. His beard kind of tickled his chin and the metal edge of the table was pressing into his ribs, but Gabe’s lips were soft and he was a really good kisser. Tyson felt dizzy and drunk from kissing Gabe, not the wine they’d been drinking.

There was a loud clatter nearby. Tyson pulled back, distracted. Gabe still brushed his fingers along Tyson’s jaw in slow, hypnotic movements. People across the path were arguing loudly; somebody else was playing music. All around them people were talking, laughing, taking advantage of the clouds clearing away, and here was Tyson, suddenly understanding with overwhelming clarity why everyone called this the city of love. 

They sat and talked until they’d finished the bottle of wine and there was nothing left on the table but crumbs. Gabe told him about growing up in Sweden, eyes bright and enthusiastic as he talked about the old town and bridges in Stockholm. Tyson told him stories about Victoria, about moving to Denver for college and about playing hockey with Nate. 

“I should probably head home,” Gabe said eventually, checking the time on his phone. “I’m opening again tomorrow. Come by the bakery?” he asked, looking up at Tyson. “I mean, unless you’ve already got plans for tomorrow, I’m sure there’s a lot you still want to-”

“Nope,” Tyson said. “No plans, I’ll definitely - I can be there. Tomorrow morning.” 

“Cool,” Gabe said, smiling. He stood up and walked around the table, leaning down to kiss Tyson and leaving him breathless. “Great, awesome. See you tomorrow, Tyson.” He walked away, hands in his pockets. Tyson was so entranced watching him leave that he caught Gabe look back over his shoulder twice. The second time he did it he walked right through the middle of some game a group of old men were playing, scattering metal balls across the path. Tyson tried to hide his laugh as Gabe apologized, ducked his head and walked away quickly. 

He sat there until the park started to get crowded and he couldn’t ignore the rude looks a couple of women kept throwing at him, clearly hoping he would leave and they could take the table. As he walked back to the hotel, the whole city seemed like it was glowing. He suddenly understood every single cliché about love, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about how lame that was. 

When he opened the door to the hotel room, he was a little surprised to see Nate sitting on the bed, playing on his phone. “Hey,” Nate said, looking up when he heard the door close. “How’d it go?”

“Amazing,” Tyson said. He knew he was smiling stupidly and honestly he probably wouldn’t stop until they got back to Denver. “We went to this market, and then we had a picnic in the park, and it was just…” He sighed happily. Nate was staring at him; Tyson couldn’t blame him. He had never felt like this before and had viciously mocked Nate the one time he’d tried to explain to Tyson how head over heels he felt about his first serious girlfriend in Denver. Their breakup and been drawn-out and dramatic, and Tyson tried not to think too hard about that right now.

“Cool,” Nate said, still focused on his phone. “I’m starving.”

“What, did you not eat without me?” Tyson asked. Nate made a face. “Okay, where’re we going for dinner?”

Nate wanted to go to a restaurant he’d passed earlier that afternoon, but he couldn’t remember exactly where it was and they wandered for a while. They walked past a patisserie and Tyson dragged him inside in some kind of trance, miraculously leaving with only a box of macarons. “Don’t worry, I’ll still eat dinner,” he said, eating the overpriced but insanely delicious cookies. They finally found the place by the time Tyson finished the last one.

Dinner had been so hard to find because they hadn’t been looking for an actual restaurant. “Seriously?” Tyson asked, trying to look over the line of people waiting at a hole in the wall restaurant with about three tables that only served gyros or something. He would’ve wanted to go somewhere else, but it smelled so good that now he had to try it. 

“What is this?” he asked.

“Um,” Nate said. “I think it’s called a kabob. Or falafel. Or something.” Tyson shrugged, taking a spot in line. He didn’t care what it was called, as long as it was good. It took them so long to get through the line that Tyson was hungry again by the time they got their food, overstuffed sandwiches and matchstick fries. They found a place to sit not too far away.

“Oh my god,” Tyson said immediately after his first bite. “Oh my god this is so good. How did you find this place?” 

“Um,” Nate said shiftily, stuffing fries in his mouth.

“You ate lunch here, didn’t you,” he said.

“Maybe,” Nate said, his mouth still full. Tyson couldn’t blame him. “The catacomb tour was really cool. Creepy as fuck, but cool.” Nate told him about his day, about the catacomb tour, the American students he met there and getting lunch with them afterward. Tyson listened, for the most part, until he got distracted by a girl across the sidewalk who was putting the french fries _in_ her sandwich and he realized he was missing an entire culinary opportunity. “So then when I was interrogating the henchmen I found out about the auction, but they weren’t at the auction because they were on his yacht. So I stole a rowboat to follow the yacht, but I couldn’t get close enough and I had to swim up to the yacht. I took out the bodyguards, and then…” Nate sighed and threw a greasy balled-up napkin at him. “Tyson are you even listening?”

“Huh?” he said. “For sure, yeah. Good for you, buddy. Oh!” He punched Nate in the arm. “Gabe wants us to come to the bakery for breakfast tomorrow. I mean, he asked me, but like, breakfast.”

“Okay,” Nate said, shrugging. “I kinda figured you’d wanna go there anyway.”

Tyson threw his arm around Nate’s shoulders. “You know me so well,” he said. 

The bakery the next morning was busier than Tyson had ever seen it. He waited behind a couple of people just outside the door for ten minutes before he realized they were just standing there having a conversation and pushed around them to get inside. Gabe was behind the counter again this morning, streaks of flour on his apron.

As soon as he saw Tyson, he grinned. “Hey,” he said, stepping out from behind the counter. He kissed his cheeks again. Tyson knew this was a totally normal way to greet people in France, but it still made his heart pound. “How’s your morning?”

“About to get a lot better, I’d say,” Tyson said. 

“Yeah?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah, I mean, having the best pastry in Paris for breakfast, the day’s off to a pretty good start,” he said, pretty sure Gabe was blushing. It was warm in the bakery that morning.

“I don’t know about the best in Paris,” Gabe said, looking around. “But thanks. So, uh, did you want anything particular this morning?”

Several dumb replies about wanting Gabe this fine morning and every damn day filtered through Tyson’s mind but by some miracle he didn't say any of them. “Those cinnamon roll things?” he asked hopefully. 

Gabe grinned. “Sure, just a second,” he said, going back into the kitchen and reappearing a minute later with a bag of what were definitely the best cinnamon rolls in Paris. “Anything else?” he asked, handing them to Tyson.

He looked at everything else, little rolls and croissants and loaves of bread. “Yeah, Nate’ll be mad if I don’t bring him anything,” he said. “I don’t know, give him whatever.” 

“Whatever,” Gabe repeated, smiling as he filled another bag with an assortment of stuff. “Hey.” He looked up at Tyson, biting his lip. “Do you have dinner plans tonight?”

“I don’t think so?” Tyson said slowly. “I mean, unless Nate has any strong opinions about it. But probably not, no.”

Gabe nodded. “Get dinner with me,” he said. “I mean, if you want to. If you don’t, that’s cool, I’d understand if you want to spend time with Nate - or you can bring him, I guess. I just, I had a really great time yesterday and uh…” He was flustered - _Tyson_ made _him_ flustered and he was cuter than he had any right to be, cheeks pink and looking down nervously. 

“Gabe,” Tyson said. “Of course I want to get dinner with you.” 

“Okay,” Gabe said quietly. Tyson could barely hear him over the other people in the bakery. “Okay, great. Here.” He grabbed Tyson’s hand and wrote the name of a restaurant and an address on the back of it. Tyson curled his fingers around Gabe’s hand as much as he could, not wanting to let go. “Meet me here at 8?” 

“Sure,” Tyson said, his voice cracking embarrassingly. Gabe squeezed Tyson’s hand before letting go. His smile was blinding, and now Tyson was the one feeling flustered. 

“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“For sure,” Tyson said. “Thanks! See you later, alligator.” He was lucky his hands were full or he probably would’ve gone for finger guns or something. Shaking his head, he left the bakery and walked right into Nate. “What are you doing here?” he yelped. After five minutes with Gabe this morning he’d lost all his cool. 

“I thought you might spend all day here staring at Gabe,” Nate said. Tyson rolled his eyes. “And I wanna do touristy stuff today.” 

Tyson checked the bags from the bakery before giving Nate his breakfast. “I would not spend all day staring at Gabe, that’s ridiculous.” He smiled at the cinnamon roll he was holding. “I do have another date with him tonight, though.”

Nate started yelling, jumping up and down right next to Tyson, which, yeah, was pretty much how he felt. “That’s awesome, dude!” he said. “What are you guys doing?”

“Dinner, I assume,” Tyson said. “He said to meet him at this restaurant.” He held up his hand so Nate could see the address written there. “Wait a minute,” he said, finally realizing what else Nate had a minute ago. “Haven’t we been doing touristy shit this entire time?”

“I mean, like, the Eiffel Tower,” Nate said, eating an apple tarte without even taking a second to savor the perfect specimen of breakfast pastry Tyson had brought him. 

“Fine, okay,” Tyson said, smelling the sweet cinnamony goodness he held before he ate it. He wondered how many of them he could fit into his suitcase and how long they’d last him. If he wasn’t such a disaster in the kitchen he’d ask Gabe for a recipe, but the delicate layers of dough and sugar seemed way too complicated for Tyson to handle. 

The Eiffel Tower, when they got there, was stupidly crowded. They had to wait forever for their turn to actually go up the elevator. They spent most of the time while they were waiting taking dumb pictures in the sprawling park at the base of the tower. 

“No, take a step to your left.” Tyson was trying to direct Nate so it would look like he was holding the Eiffel Tower in the picture, but it was not exactly working. “Your other left, dude. Now step back - don’t move!” Nate sneezed right when Tyson took a picture. “Are you kidding!” he yelled. “Okay, actually, this is really hilarious. This might be the best picture of you ever taken.”

When it was finally their turn, they crammed into an elevator with a bunch of other tourists, Nate’s shoulder pressing into him on one side and the glass of the elevator on the other. It was freezing cold and windy as hell at the top of the tower. It didn’t look that tall from the ground, but being up there made it pretty clear just how far above the ground they were when the cars on the ground were the size of toys.

After the Eiffel Tower, they grabbed lunch at a little café just outside of a big park across the river. After lunch they went back to the park and hung out for a while before they made their way through a crazy-fancy neighborhood toward the Arc de Triomphe. Tyson tried to appreciate the sights, but all afternoon all he could think about was his date with Gabe, about how much he liked him and how much he didn’t want to leave tomorrow. 

“Whoa, watch out.” Nate grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way of a group of girls, laughing and carrying an insane amount of shopping bags. “You okay?”

“Sure, yeah,” he said, looking around the street. “Hey look, is that a pastry store?”

It was the fanciest pastry shop Tyson had ever seen, with tiny desserts that looked more like works of art than food. Just one cost more than their dinner last night, but it was absolutely worth it. 

“So,” Tyson said once they were back on the street. He was trying to figure out how to eat the complicated mini-cake thing he’d just bought without looking like an idiot or dropping anything and figured the easiest method might be to just shove the entire thing in his mouth. He shrugged and went for it, somehow tasting several different flavors of vanilla. It was amazing. He would definitely miss Gabe back in Colorado, but he would miss the food here almost as much. 

“So,” he said again. “Favorite thing about Paris?”

Nate shrugged. He’d gotten some layered raspberry thing and was carefully eating it piece by piece. “We’re not leaving until tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t know yet.”

Tyson squinted at him. “Do you have big plans tonight or something?” He remembered all the times he’d come back to Nate texting and wondered if he wasn’t the only one who’d met someone here. Nate shrugged again. Secretive motherfucker. Tyson would get the story out of him eventually, when he wasn’t silently freaking out about his last date with Gabe.

Tyson left Nate after they’d seen the Arc de Triomphe, making his way back to the hotel. He didn’t know anything about the restaurant where he was meeting Gabe, and he hoped it wasn’t super fancy or anything. By some miracle, he hadn’t smudged the address, but he also didn’t want to look like a nerd with it still written on the back of his hand at dinner. 

Most of his clothes were dirty at this point, so he settled for a clean t-shirt and clean-ish jeans and seriously hoped he wasn’t about to look like an idiot at some five-star restaurant where he didn’t know which fork to use. He actually tried to fix his hair, which was just about as much as he could do to make himself look presentable, double-checked the directions, and left. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Tyson said to himself when he realized he was walking straight towards the river, glittering with reflected lights. “A fucking dinner cruise? What is this, _Anastasia_?” When he turned a corner, he realized he was standing in front of the restaurant. Gabe was sitting at a table just inside the window, waving at him.

The restaurant wasn’t super fancy, but there were still candles on the tables. Gabe looked so good even though he was just wearing a plain black t-shirt, stretched across his broad shoulders. The candle on the table was doing all kinds of flattering things to Gabe’s face, showing off his chiseled chin and that damn perfect smile. 

“Hey,” Gabe said, standing up as Tyson came up to the table. Tyson almost walked into Gabe twice trying to get to his seat before Gabe took his arm, kissed him on the cheek, and pulled out a chair for him. Gabe could deny the Prince Charming similarities all he wanted, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He held Tyson’s hand across the table, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand so Tyson couldn’t even focus on reading the menu. When the waiter came to take their orders, he just looked at Gabe and raised his eyebrows. 

“Really?” Gabe asked.

“Well I assume you come here all the time,” he said. “Just order something you like, it’s probably good.” 

The food Gabe ordered was way better than good, it was absolutely amazing. “Why,” Tyson said, not even sure if he was asking a specific question or just generally questioning his life choices up to this point. Gabe raised his eyebrows. “Why is all of the food here so good?” Tyson asked.

Gabe smiled. “Maybe because you’ve gone to some of my favorite restaurants in the city,” he said. “And I have great taste.” Tyson rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t argue with that. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Everything you do is the best, somebody should put a crown on your big head.” Gabe laughed, fueling Tyson to keep talking. “Gabe the Baker, Prince of Pastry, knows more about food than anyone else on earth.”

“Okay, okay,” Gabe said, laughing. “Wow, I could get used to this.” So could Tyson, and that was a whole problem he really didn’t want to think about right now. He had already gotten used to it, really - breakfast at the bakery, romantic dinners - this whole week had been incredible, but he also knew it would never last, that this could never really be his life.

“I guess you’ll have to return the favor if i’m ever in Denver,” Gabe said. 

Tyson looked up at him. “Are you planning a trip there or something?” 

Gabe shrugged. “I like to travel,” he said. “I’ve been to New York a couple of times but I haven’t seen most of America. Denver sounds like a cool city.” They ended up talking about traveling for most of dinner. Even though he’d grown up in Canada and now lived in Denver, Tyson really hadn’t traveled a whole lot before this trip. Gabe, though, has apparently been to just about every country in Europe and also America and Canada. 

“Don’t tell me you travel a lot because you’re going to bakers’ conventions,” Tyson said, digging into his tiramisu. Across the table, Gabe blushed. 

“They’re not, like, formal conventions,” he said. “But I have gone to visit other bakeries and take classes and stuff.” 

“Wow,” Tyson said. “I guess it’s almost the same thing as me going to LA for marketing conferences.” It had been a stupidly boring and kind of miserable trip. The traffic was so bad it took three hours to get to the beach, and then somebody saw a shark and no one was allowed near the water. Tyson would’ve almost rather faced another day of marketing strategy presentations and awkward group discussions. 

“See? It’s not that weird,” Gabe said. “You get to do exciting things for work, too.”

“Uh huh,” Tyson said skeptically, reaching out to steal another bite of the towering pastry Gabe had ordered for dessert. “Definitely just as exciting.” 

“Yeah, waking up at 3:30 in the morning and spending hours working in a hot kitchen is thrilling,” Gabe said, but his sarcasm missed the mark and Tyson could tell he really did love baking. It was pretty cute, actually, his dorky smile and the way he waved his hands around when he talked. Tyson smiled and bumped his foot against Gabe’s under the table. Gabe didn’t even pause his story, so Tyson hooked his foot around Gabe’s ankle. Gabe smiled. 

Outside the window, the Eiffel Tower started its dazzling light show. “We should go up,” Gabe said, watching the lights. 

“Nate and I just did that today,” he said.

“You have to see the city at night, though,” Gabe argued. And, simple as that, Tyson agreed. Well, that and he didn’t want this night to be over, didn’t want to have to say goodbye to Gabe and accept that he would never see him again. So now he was on his way up an elevator in the Eiffel Tower for the second time that day, this time holding hands with Gabe and pressed close against his side. If there was one thing Tyson had learned during this trip, it was that Paris was constantly achingly beautiful. Standing on top of the tower, the whole city spread out below them in glittering black and gold took Tyson’s breath away. Though that also could’ve been Gabe’s arms wrapped around him, his chest pressed to Tyson’s back and his chin resting on his shoulder.

“Wow,” he said softly. He couldn’t actually see Gabe’s smug smile, but he knew he was doing it, could just barely feel his beard tickling his neck. 

“Yeah,” Gabe said happily. “Hey, do you want to come back to my place for -”

“Yes,” Tyson said, not caring to hear why Gabe wanted him to come back to his place and instead turning around so he could kiss Gabe. Gabe kissed him deeply, his arms tight around him as he pushed him back against the railing. Tyson would have agreed to pretty much anything just to stay here in Gabe’s arms on top of the world. 

They took a taxi back to Gabe’s apartment. Neither of them could keep their hands to themselves. Tyson slid his arm around Gabe’s shoulders as soon as they were in the car and Gabe rested his hand on Tyson’s thigh, idly inching higher every few minutes. Tyson shifted closer, trying to force Gabe’s hand closer to his dick, already getting hard in his jeans. Gabe just smiled and kept his hand where it was. Tyson should’ve figured he’d be a terrible tease. He licked his lips and looked out the window, trying to ignore the heavy, possessive warmth of Gabe’s hand on him. Gabe, who had been looking ahead feigning disinterest this entire time, turned to watch him. He was pointedly staring at Tyson’s lips. Tyson was about to say fuck it, lean over and kiss Gabe, when their taxi pulled to a stop outside Gabe’s apartment. 

Gabe shoved a handful of money to the driver. Tyson practically fell onto Gabe as he scrambled out of the car. “It’s a walk-up,” Gabe said apologetically as he unlocked the front door.

“Well, I’m not gonna blow you right here,” Tyson said, following Gabe inside and taking the stairs two at a time. Gabe stared at him for a few seconds then laughed, loud and surprised, and ran up after him. Tyson stopped on the first landing and let Gabe go on ahead of him, a little because he didn’t know where he was going but mostly so he could watch his ass as he went up the stairs. 

Gabe had already unlocked the door and was leaning casually in the doorway by the time he reached him. Tyson threw himself at him, kissing him hard and making him stumble backwards into his apartment. He pushed his hands up under Gabe’s shirt and tried to pull it over his head, but Gabe didn’t seem to want to take his hands off Tyson. He never thought he’d consider that a problem until now. 

“Take your stupid shirt off,” Tyson muttered between kisses.

Gabe laughed. “Wow, demanding,” he said, taking a step back so he could pull his shirt over his head and throw it somewhere behind him. Tyson reached out to stroke his hands down Gabe’s chest but Gabe grabbed his hand instead and pulled him further into the apartment, hooking his fingers under the edge of Tyson’s shirt and pulling it off him as they stumbled into Gabe’s bedroom.

“God you’re gorgeous,” Gabe mumbled, running his hands around Tyson’s sides and spreading them wide against his back. Tyson didn’t tell Gabe he looked like one of the statues he’d seen at the museum the other day, mostly because Gabe was kissing him again, fucking his tongue into his mouth. Tyson’s knees were weak and he was already hard and they hadn’t done anything but kiss yet. Gabe was going to completely destroy him. He couldn’t wait. 

Gabe used his grip on Tyson to push him around, which Tyson was really embarrassingly into. He grabbed Gabe’s hips and tried to pull him closer. Just as he reached out for Gabe’s belt, Gabe pushed him backwards and he fell onto the bed. Tyson was too distracted by Gabe, shirtless and grinning at the foot of the bed, to realize what Gabe was doing until he kicked off his pants and leaned down to kiss him, his knees on either side of Tyson’s hips. 

Tyson parted his lips, groaning when Gabe bit his lip. He wrapped his legs around Gabe’s hips and tightened his grip, rolling them over and nearly falling off the bed from the momentum. Gabe grabbed him, grinning, and pulled him back on the bed. Tyson refused to be embarrassed, leaning down and kissing him again. Gabe pulled him closer, grinding his hips against Tyson’s. He let himself get lost in the feeling for a second, savoring Gabe’s hot, lingering kisses and the slow roll of his hips. Tyson hastily undid his own belt and jeans, standing up only long enough to pull off his pants. 

He kissed along Gabe’s jaw, wishing he had another week to spend in Paris just so Gabe could cover him in beard burn. But he only had tonight, and he wanted to make the most of it. He moved farther down Gabe’s body, trailing his fingers across Gabe’s chest as he kissed Gabe’s frankly ridiculously toned abs. Gabe was breathing hard, his face flushed and his lips red when Tyson looked up at him, hesitating with his fingers just above the waistband of Gabe’s briefs.

“Yeah, do it,” Gabe breathed, lifting his hips to make it easier for Tyson to yank his underwear off. It really figured that Gabe’s dick was just as gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and heavy. Gabe shifted his thighs when Tyson wrapped his hand around him, and when he leaned in to lick the tip he swore in a language Tyson didn’t recognize. He took a deep breath and took as much as he could in his mouth, bobbing his head a few times until he found a rhythm, his lips brushing his fingers where they were wrapped around the base of Gabe’s cock. 

Gabe’s hands were all over him, grabbing his shoulders and dragging up his neck, his thumb resting at the corner of Tyson’s lips where they were slick with spit and stretched around him. Gabe’s other hand gripped Tyson’s shoulder hard, fingers flexing and relaxing as Tyson moved. Tyson relaxed his jaw and tried to take Gabe in deeper, making him swear softly when he did. He made the mistake of looking up at Gabe, who was biting his lip and flushed all the way down to his chest. Gabe was looking down at Tyson, eyes dark and half-closed, and when he noticed Tyson looking up at him he swore again, closing his eyes. 

Tyson palmed himself through his boxers, groaning around Gabe’s dick. Gabe pushed his hips up and Tyson had to move his hand, pressing flat against the curve of Gabe’s hip to keep him still. 

“Tyson,” Gabe groaned, and Tyson had to squeeze his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the way his name sounded when Gabe said it like that, ragged and gasping. “Oh, fuck.” Tyson ran his tongue along the bottom of Gabe’s dick, sucked on the tip as he pulled back, keeping a steady rhythm with his hand. Tyson could probably come like this, considering how achingly hard he was already from the weight of Gabe’s dick in his mouth and the way he kept groaning curses and praises and Tyson’s name over and over. He was determined to blow Gabe’s mind, pun fully intended, and he was pretty confident he was doing just that. He looked up at Gabe again, his eyelashes sticking together wetly and blurring the edges of his vision. Even completely wrecked, Gabe looked ridiculously good, still flushed down his neck and chest and sweaty now, his muscles tight and shaking slightly from the effort of staying still. 

Gabe’s fingers tightened on his shoulder again, blunt fingernails scraping over his skin as he tried to push Tyson back. “Tyson,” he groaned again. “Tys, god, you feel so good, I’m gonna -” Tyson ignored Gabe’s warning, took a deep breath and swallowed around his dick, moaning when Gabe came down his throat. He swallowed what he could, a few drops spilling down his chin in hot drips. Tyson licked his lips, swollen and over-sensitive, and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, resting his head on Gabe’s thigh. He finally wrapped his hand around his own dick, too dry but desperate enough to not really care. He knew this wouldn’t take long.

“Wait,” Gabe said, his voice rough and so sexy. Tyson couldn’t even look at him right now without completely embarrassing himself. Gabe pulled him up by the shoulders until Tyson was basically in his lap. He knocked Tyson’s hand away and wrapped his fingers tightly around him instead, spreading his other hand on Tyson’s ass and encouraging him to thrust into his hand, right against his abs. Tyson dropped his head onto Gabe’s shoulder, panting against his neck and coming messily on Gabe’s stomach as he worked him through it, rubbing his hand up and down Tyson’s back in broad sweeps. Tyson collapsed more or less on top of him, totally boneless. 

Gabe gently pushed him onto his side and disappeared, coming back a minute later and reaching over Tyson to set something down on the nightstand before wiping Tyson’s face with surprisingly gentle hands. He collapsed next to him, running his hand slowly through Tyson’s hair. He could definitely fall asleep like this, curled up with Gabe in his warm bed, the sheets pushed back and the pillows smelling like Gabe’s shampoo, their quiet breathing and the faint noises from the street drifting through the window the only sounds in the room. 

Tyson looked over at Gabe, already asleep sprawled out on his back with one hand reaching out to him. Reality was starting to creep back in; he’d just slept with Gabe, he had to be at the airport with Nate at like six in the morning, and he really needed to pack his suitcase. God, Tyson had just had probably the best sex of his life and now he had to leave the country, had to go back home halfway around the world and never see Gabe ever again. He’d come on this stupid trip to get over the heartbreak of his breakup and instead here he was, in bed with a great guy and his heart shattered in a thousand pieces. Gabe shifted in his sleep, his hand landing on Tyson’s shoulder. Tyson covered Gabe’s hand with his own for a minute and let himself pretend he could have this, before he quietly got up and left.

Their hotel room was dark by the time he got back, Nate snoring loudly. Tyson tried to pack what he could in the dark, just shoving things randomly into his suitcase. He gave up when he realized he was trying to fit the hotel towels in with what might have been a pair of Nate’s pants and went to take a shower. They had to be at the airport in a few hours and he was somehow both exhausted and wide awake. He could probably sleep on the plane, since he didn’t feel like sleeping now at all. 

They left their hotel in the gray pre-dawn, the whole city waking up around them. Looking out at the city from the bus window made Tyson’s chest ache and suddenly he couldn’t wait to be gone, to be back in Denver surrounded by the mountains at home. He did not actually sleep on the plane because he was too busy feeling vaguely empty and sorry for himself, staring out the window and watching the blindingly white clouds drift slowly by. At some point he must have nodded off, because he woke up to Nate accidentally squishing his leg when he sat back down. 

“Sorry,” Nate mumbled. Most of the other people on the plane were asleep. Tyson felt like he’d been awake for years and that this flight had already lasted at least twelve hours. All he could think about was Gabe, smiling at him from across a table and kissing him on top of the Eiffel tower and staring down at him between his thighs, glassy-eyed and mouth hanging open. Their entire relationship flashed through his mind, one week’s worth of memories in fast forward. This was officially the most miserable Tyson had ever felt in his entire life. He would’ve been better off just taking the week off from work, lying on his couch, and watching literally all of _Parks and Rec_. He didn’t want to hear anything about France ever again.

“Where are we?” he asked, trying to rub some feeling back into his legs. Both of his feet prickled with pins and needles. He wasn’t as tall as Nate and he still didn’t have room to stretch out his legs. 

“Somewhere over Canada I think,” Nate said. “Still have a couple hours to go.” Tyson sighed and tried to get comfortable leaning against the window. He wished he had one of those stupid neck pillows like Nate, who must have noticed him fidgeting. He gave Tyson his pillow. “I fell asleep like right after we took off,” he said. “I’m good.”

“Thanks,” Tyson said, taking the pillow and closing his eyes. He fell asleep faster than he expected and woke up leaning against Nate, the plane taxiing on the ground in Denver. 

By the time he finally got back home, he dropped his bag right inside the door and looked around. His apartment felt too big, too empty, and he really didn’t want to be here by himself. He grabbed his car keys again and went through the Dairy Queen drive through, getting extra cookie dough and hot fudge in his blizzard this time. He ate it on his couch, flipping quickly through hundreds of mindless, English-speaking tv channels and wishing he was at Nate’s right now cuddling his dogs. Maybe Nate would let him borrow one of them for a couple days, at least until he was feeling slightly less miserable. He woke up on his couch hours later with fudge smeared on his shirt and _Masterchef Junior_ on tv. He had no idea what time it was - it had to be late with how dark it was outside. He had to be at work in the morning and here he was, crying because these kids on tv had such inspiring life stories and they were all more talented than he would ever be. He thought about taking one more vacation day tomorrow just to pull himself together.

He did drag himself to work the next morning, though, managed to look like an actual human being and talk to his coworkers on his way to his desk. He even answered a couple of the emails that had piled up in his inbox all week, had gotten himself a second cup of coffee and scheduled a phone conference with a client before he found himself staring blankly at the computer screen. He didn’t know Gabe’s last name to look him up on facebook, didn’t even have an email address so they could attempt to keep in touch. He might be able to find out Gabe’s name from the bakery’s website, but that was a long shot. All he had was a French phone number and a bunch of memories that upset him more and more as he thought about them.

“Tyson. Tyyyyyyyyson.” He startled and looked up. EJ was leaning over the edge of his cubicle, looking at him. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Tyson said, shaking himself a little. “Yeah, I’m fine, what’s up?”

EJ made a face. “Well, you’ve just typed like six pages of the letter ‘d’ over and over again,” he said. Tyson actually looked at his computer screen. EJ was right; he must have had his finger pressed on the key and didn’t realize it. He hurriedly closed the document. “One of the interns says there’s a new food truck parked around the corner. Do you wanna go there for lunch?”

“Sure,” he said. EJ was definitely his closest work friend. They ate lunch together most days, got drinks at the end of the week more often than not, and had been trying to convince Brianna from HR to join a hockey league with them for months. He’d even gone golfing a couple times with EJ, which always went great for the first four or five holes until Tyson remembered that he both hated and was terrible at golf, and would much rather spend his time just driving the golf cart around drinking something with a tiny umbrella in it. Still, lunch with EJ would be great. He could catch up on all the office gossip he’d missed while he was gone.

“Cool,” EJ said, knocking his knuckles on the edge of Tyson’s desk. “I’ll see you in like an hour, then.”

After EJ left, Tyson forced himself to focus and actually got some work done. Lunch was amazingly normal. EJ told him so many stories about what he’d missed at the office that Tyson was starting to think he was making them up, but he was grateful for the distraction. After lunch, he let himself waste ten minutes looking at the bakery’s facebook page, at a picture of Gabe’s cinnamon rolls stacked neatly on the counter, looking delicious and tempting in the morning sunshine. Then his website blocker turned on and he had no choice but to focus on work again.

The rest of the day was fine, and so was the day after that. He was fine - that’s what he told EJ every time he asked, what he told his boss when he stopped by his desk and what he told Nate whenever he texted, asking if Tyson wanted to do something that weekend. He didn’t tell any of them that he’d gone to Dairy Queen three times that week, or that he’d started obsessively watching certain movies when he got home, because he was fine. He wasn’t thinking about Gabe all the time and he definitely did not miss eating fresh chocolate croissants and cinnamon rolls for breakfast and he absolutely wasn’t looking at the cost of another trip to Paris compared to his bank account. 

He thought he’d been pretty convincing telling everyone how fine he was, so he definitely wasn’t prepared for Nate to ambush him in his own living room later that week. 

“Tyson, how many times have you watched this movie?” Nate asked, standing at the end of Tyson’s couch with his arms folded over his chest. Tyson had given him his spare apartment key for emergency purposes. He wasn’t sure how Nate had found out about him living on his couch and eating his sadness by trying every Blizzard flavor, but he suspected he and EJ had been talking about him behind his back and decided it was time for an intervention. He should be embarrassed by a lot of things about this situation - his living room was a mess of empty Blizzard cups, candy wrappers, and greasy Chinese take-out boxes. Dirty socks and pants he’d taken off as soon as he got home every day were scattered all over the floor. Right now he was wearing a loosened tie over his t-shirt, boxers, and the fuzzy socks his sister gave him for Christmas a few years ago. “What the fuck?”

“Mamma mia,” he sang, way off-key, ignoring Nate as he watched Meryl spy on Bill, Sam, and Harry for at least the sixth time since they’d come back. “Why, why did I ever let you go?” Nate grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at him, but Tyson just grabbed it and cuddled it to his chest. Nate rolled his eyes and walked away. He was too sad to be around, even for his best friend. 

“There’s literally no food in your house, Tys,” he yelled from the kitchen. “There isn’t even ice cream in the freezer.” He came back and stood directly in front of the tv, but Tyson had the whole movie memorized by now so it didn’t really matter.

“Come on,” Nate said. “Get up, put on some pants, we’re going to Chipotle.” He turned around and turned off the tv. “Why are you even watching this anyway?”

“It’s ABBA,” Tyson mumbled into the pillow. “They’re Swedish.” He hadn’t been able to bring himself to watch _Moulin Rouge!_ since he’d gotten home, and he was well on his way to ruining this movie for himself, too. Nate yanked the pillow away from him and tried to pull Tyson to his feet. He knew he needed this, needed to get out of his apartment for something besides work or ice cream, but he really had no motivation to do it, and so he rolled further into his couch, making Nate lose his grip on his arm. 

Nate sighed. “Look,” he said. “I get it, and I wish I could make you feel better, but you have got to get out of your house. We’re getting Chipotle, we’re going back to my place, you can play with the dogs. And you have got to go get some groceries, I don’t want EJ to text me that you haven’t shown up at work all week and find you passed out surrounded by melted ice cream.”

That was the harsh reality check Tyson needed to stop resisting Nate, to actually get up and put on sweatpants and shoes and follow him out of his apartment. He ended up staying at Nate’s that night, curled up in Nate’s huge bed between him and his dogs, waking up insanely early when Nate went out for a run. Tyson went back to his apartment to shower and get ready for work, and by the time he got to the office he was actually smiling.

“Hey, there he is,” EJ said, throwing his arm around Tyson’s neck as they walked to the elevators. “I thought France turned you into a zombie for a minute.”

“I left my heart in Paris,” Tyson said. It was still too early in the morning for him to really watch what he was saying.

“Shit, dude,” said EJ sympathetically. 

“Yep,” Tyson agreed. “But it’s fine. I’ll get over it.” If he said it enough times, eventually he’d probably start believing it. Throughout the day, Nate texted him so much Tyson wondered what he was doing at his own job.

_seriously bro get some food_

_I know u can’t cook but frozen pizza is a thing_

_u can’t actually live on ice cream_

_I will sign u up for hello fresh_

_maybe ull learn something_

Tyson finally snapped and texted him back.

> _stop listening to podcasts_

> _and stop texting me and do your job_

_there’s nothing happening here im so bored_

Tyson rolled his eyes. Normally, this was when he told Nate he could’ve become a firefighter or a professional basketball player or done literally anything else with his life besides work in an office. Nate always told Tyson he couldn’t talk when he also had a boring office job, and they went on with their conversation.

> _I will buy food later please leave me alone_

_k good_

A little while later, while Tyson was trying not to fall asleep reading some long-winded proposal that may or may not actually have been relevant to his job, EJ stopped by his desk. “Hey, drinks tonight?” he asked. 

Tyson squinted at him. If he and Nate had already been talking about Tyson’s wellbeing, then Nate would probably text him accusing him of not taking care of himself in about ten minutes if he said yes to drinks. “I can’t,” he said, still looking at EJ suspiciously. “I have to go grocery shopping.”

“Okay,” EJ said slowly. “But after that? I’m sure we’ll be there for a while.”

Tyson shrugged. “I’ll text you,” he said. 

EJ pointed at him as he walked away. “You better,” he said. 

Tyson celebrated making it through his first week back at work by blasting Ariana Grande and driving through Denver with the windows down, the warm evening air blowing by. He wandered through the grocery store with no real plan other than getting food that didn’t come with a side of fries. At first he sent Nate pictures of everything he put in his cart: a bunch of bananas, a carton of milk, orange juice. Then he found daiquiri mix, Lucky Charms, and several boxes of mac and cheese, and decided Nate didn’t need to know exactly what he was buying. 

He was pretty sure he couldn’t handle going down the bread aisle right now even though bread was an important part of a lot of the foods he could actually cook. Instead, he was on his way through the frozen section looking for the pizzas when he accidentally crashed his cart into someone else’s.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, looking up and realizing Gabe was looking back at him, smiling tentatively and not looking even slightly sorry. Gabe, gorgeous Gabe the baker from Paris, was standing three feet from him leaning on the handle of a grocery cart, looking unfairly cuddly in a soft gray hoodie. His beard was longer than it had been the last time Tyson saw him, faintly ginger and making him picture Gabe as an actual viking, on a boat with a sword for some reason. Tyson figured he must be hallucinating. Maybe he was actually asleep on his couch right now, about to wake up from a weirdly vivid dream. “Pinch me,” he said dazedly.

Gabe did. Tyson felt the sting of it, also felt Gabe trail his fingers down Tyson’s arm after. 

“Gabe? What are you doing here?” he asked. Apparently he wasn’t dreaming; this was really happening. Someone pushed past him to get to the frozen vegetables in the freezer case he was standing in front of. 

“Um.” Gabe was blushing, patches of red flushed beneath his beard. Tyson realized the last time he saw him, he hadn’t even said goodbye. He honestly thought he’d never see Gabe again and nothing had prepared him for this, literally running into him at a Safeway’s in Denver. “Buying groceries?” Gabe said, scratching the back of his neck. He dropped his arm to his side. “Can we talk?”

“Now?” Tyson asked. He did not want to have a serious conversation in the middle of the grocery store. Honestly, he didn’t want to have a serious conversation ever. He had prepared himself to let his time with Gabe fade into the best memory he’d ever have, and seeing him here reminded him just how not over Gabe he was. He was cold, he was hungry, and he was feeling a little fragile. Plus he still thought this might be some crazy, sugar-induced dream. Then again, if this was really happening, there was absolutely no way he could walk away from Gabe a second time.

“Okay,” he said. “I need to finish getting actual food, and then I’m gonna stock up on ice cream and go home and eat dinner.” He took a deep breath, about to make either the worst or best decision of his life. “So do you want to come over and talk?”

“Oh,” Gabe said, surprised. “Sure, yeah.” Tyson wandered around the rest of the store hoping Gabe wasn’t silently judging him for everything he put in his cart, which was pretty easy until he picked up three different kinds of Ben & Jerry’s and was debating a fourth.

“I think you missed one,” Gabe said, reaching past him to pick up another pint. “Oh no, this one’s for me,” he said when Tyson tried to take it from him. 

“You -” Tyson shook his head, not sure how he wanted to finish that sentence. He left the frozen section and went to get a loaf of bread, no longer dreading that particular heartache now that Gabe was actually here with him instead of just the miserable weight of his absence. 

“Oh, really?” Gabe said judgily when Tyson reached for the Wonderbread. He turned to look at him and laughed at Gabe’s disdainful expression. Tyson tossed the bread in his cart.

“Yes, really,” Tyson said. Boring white bread was perfect for pb&j, grilled cheese, and that breakfast thing where you cut a hole in the bread and then fried an egg in the middle of it. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, we’re not in France anymore. Welcome to America.” He gestured to the shelves of bread around them, pre-sliced in their plastic packages. “This is it, buddy.” 

Gabe’s eyes followed Tyson’s sweeping gesture. He looked lost and disappointed, out of place enough for Tyson to start panicking for a second, before Gabe started laughing, quietly at first then loudly and unselfconsciously, his hand on his forehead. Tyson smiled and turned away quickly, spinning his cart toward the cash registers. 

“Come on,” he said, turning around once his face was under control again, less blushy and not quite as obviously fond. “Are you done?” Gabe had two bags of flour, a six pack of beer, and the ice cream in his cart. He couldn’t really judge considering what was in his own cart, but that seemed a little weird. “Are you stalking me?” 

Gabe finally stopped laughing. “What? No,” he said. “Why would I be stalking you?”

“That’s really all you’re buying,” Tyson said skeptically.

“Yeah,” Gabe said. “I’m staying at a friend’s place, it’s not like I’m stocking an entire apartment.” He let his sentence trail off, smiling slyly at him. Tyson expected there to be a “yet” at the end of that sentence, but that would be ridiculous. Apparently Gabe was on another one of his special baking adventures, and he’d somehow ended up in Denver. 

Out in the parking lot, Tyson automatically headed back to his car before he even thought about how Gabe had got there. “Did you rent a car?” he asked over his shoulder, assuming Gabe was still following him. Gabe didn’t say anything; Tyson looked behind him and realized Gabe was a lot closer than he expected, biting his lip. “Wait, can you even drive?”

“Legally? No,” Gabe said, shrugging. “I’ve never really needed to.”

“Oh my god,” Tyson muttered, stopping his cart just in time to stop it from rolling into his own car as he dug in his pockets for his car keys. “Just - get in the car.” 

Driving back to his apartment was almost impossible. He was overly aware of all the trash and extra shirts in his backseat (including the tie he’d thrown back there earlier that afternoon), the fact that he barely knew how to work his car radio because he always played his phone but the only music he had on his phone was girl pop and sad hipster music, and he hoped Gabe wasn’t judging him on any of that, let alone his actual driving ability. Gabe was quiet, looking out the window for the whole drive. Tyson had so many questions, he didn’t even know where to start. The quiet between them lasted all the way through Tyson letting them into his apartment, more or less putting his groceries away, and putting a pizza in the oven for dinner. 

Finally he looked at Gabe, who was standing awkwardly by his kitchen table, and said, “Okay. What the hell are you doing here, Gabe?”

“Uh,” Gabe said, almost backing into the table as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Should we sit down?” Tyson frowned at him. He didn’t like being told what to do in his own home, but Gabe probably had a point. Tyson went to sit down, realized he was being a terrible host, and stopped. 

“Do you want, like, water or anything?” he asked. He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard anyways and filled them up.

“I’m opening a bakery in Denver with a friend of mine,” Gabe said as Tyson was on his way back to the kitchen table. By some miracle, he didn’t spill anything, probably because he couldn’t remember how to move at all. 

“I - You...” he said. He sat down heavily across from Gabe. “What? What does that… what are you saying?” 

Gabe ran his hand through his hair. “I’m moving to Denver,” he said. “I’m here looking at apartments right now.” 

Tyson started laughing. It wasn’t very funny, but he didn’t know how else to respond. “How long have you been planning this?” he asked. “Did you know the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, looking down at his hands. “I was going to tell you, honestly, I just didn’t know when. At first it was just a funny coincidence, oh this cute guy is from the place I’m moving to. And then it just never seemed to be the right moment.”

“Literally any time would have been fine,” Tyson said. He was being mean and not listening, but he was still having trouble accepting the fact that Gabe was here, sitting at his kitchen table. This wasn’t how he’d imagined seeing Gabe again at all.

“Well I was going to tell you before you left,” Gabe said, looking up at him with such sincerity and intensity of emotion that Tyson had to look away. “But then you were just gone.” 

“How was I supposed to say goodbye?” Tyson asked. “‘Thanks for the sex, have a nice life!’”

Gabe’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I get it,” he said. “It was a one-time thing, this is too weird.” He stood up and gathered his things. “You know, for what it’s worth, I really like you, Tyson. I wanted to see if this could actually work between us, now that we’d be in the same city. I guess I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait,” Tyson said. Gabe had already opened the door. Tyson jumped to his feet and ran across the apartment, just managing to throw himself in Gabe’s way. “Wait, wait, wait, where are you going?”

Gabe stared at him. “You don’t want to see me again,” he said. “I got the message, loud and clear.”

“No no no no no,” Tyson said. He tried to shut the door but Gabe’s shoulder was in the way. “No, wrong message, I definitely want to see you again, I have been so miserable this entire week because I missed you so much, you can ask Nate, he staged an intervention. And don’t even get me started on - wait.” He paused and looked up at Gabe, who was smiling at him now, relaxed and obviously no longer trying to leave. He raised an eyebrow as he waited for Tyson to keep talking. “You really like me?” 

“Yeah. I thought I was pretty obvious,” he said. “Do you want me to sing it or something?”

“Uh, yes please,” Tyson said, pushing Gabe back into the apartment and kicking the door shut. Gabe went easily, grinning as he let Tyson push him around. “Well? Why aren’t you singing?”

“Because I don’t want to get kicked out again,” Gabe said, laughing. “Also, I think your pizza’s burning.” 

“Shit, fuck, damnit,” Tyson muttered, running to turn off the oven and grab the pizza, hoping he wouldn’t set off the fire alarm. Only the edges of the crust were burnt, which was fine since Tyson didn’t even like the crust that much anyways. He set the pizza on the counter triumphantly and started digging around for the pizza cutter his mom gave him when he moved out. He nearly closed his hand in a drawer when Gabe snuck up behind him and slid his hands around Tyson’s shoulders, looking at the pizza.

“That’s lucky,” he said. “I would’ve guessed you’d ruined it.”

“If you’re gonna be mean, you can’t have my cooking,” he said, still looking for the pizza cutter.

“I really wouldn’t call that cooking,” Gabe said.

“Well we can’t all be Swedish baking geniuses,” he said, slamming another drawer closed when he finally found the pizza cutter, buried under delivery menus, old rubber bands and a bunch of straws. 

“Pizza crust isn’t that hard to make,” Gabe said. “I could teach you.”

“It’s a little late for that now,” Tyson said, grabbing a couple plates. He could feel himself blushing so hard his ears felt hot, just at the thought of something as domestic as cooking with Gabe in his own apartment. “But that sounds nice. Next time you’re in town.”

“It’s a date,” Gabe said, taking a plate and helping himself to a couple pieces of slightly burnt pizza. 

They ate in the kitchen, their legs tangled together under the table. Gabe told him about his friend Mikko who’d moved to Boulder a few years ago to go to pastry school, wouldn’t shut up about how much he loved it and how Gabe really had to visit him. Gabe had never been able to make it out to Boulder, but now Mikko had moved to Denver and Gabe decided this was an opportunity he didn’t want to miss.

“What about the bakery in Paris?” Tyson asked, trying to catch a long drip of cheese with his tongue. He honestly hadn’t considered what he would look like doing that until he realized Gabe was staring at him hungrily from across the table. Tyson grinned and took a huge bite of his pizza.

Gabe blinked, looking back down at his plate. “I’m sure they’ll find another baker,” Gabe said with a shrug.

“Wait, I thought you owned that place?” Tyson asked. He didn’t know where he’d got the idea, it just seemed right somehow.

“No,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “I told you I started working there when I first moved to Paris and I just never left.” Their conversation stalled, both of them eating, looking away when one caught the other looking. Tyson wondered if this really was only a temporary thing, if his feelings were so intense because it could only last a week. Whatever they had together had been left behind in Paris and now they were just another pair of exes, two people who couldn’t work it out.

Gabe stood up. Tyson noticed his plate was empty before he noticed Gabe walk around the table to stand next to him. “Do you need a ride back to…” His question trailed off as Gabe ran his hands through Tyson’s hair and leaned down slowly, giving Tyson plenty of time to panic and understand this was really happening again before Gabe kissed him. Tyson wondered if he’d ever really fallen in love with Paris the city or if he’d just fallen for the feeling of being in Gabe’s arms. 

He stood up so fast he knocked over his chair, pushing Gabe back against the table and kissing him. Gabe tasted like tomato sauce and burned pizza crust. He hitched one of his legs around Tyson’s hips and dragged him closer, rattling everything on the table. Tyson had never had sex on his kitchen table, but now he was seriously considering shoving the plates to the floor and pushing Gabe on his back. Right now, he let his head fall back so Gabe could kiss his way down his neck, sucking a mark just above his collarbone. 

Tyson took a step back, pulling Gabe with him with his hands on his hips. He had every intention of moving this to the bedroom before they broke his kitchen table, but they didn’t even get out of the kitchen. Gabe pushed him back against the counter and dropped to his knees, his hands spread on Tyson’s thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, like there was any universe where Tyson would say no to him. 

Tyson has forgotten every word in the English language. “Uh huh,” he gasped, nodding eagerly. Tyson reached back to brace himself on the counter and took a deep, shuddering breath as Gabe undid his belt and fly and pulled down his pants and briefs. He was already embarrassingly hard, clearly desperate for Gabe to touch him, and he nearly came on the spot when Gabe said, “I like it when you pull my hair,” casual as anything. He ran his fingers carefully through Gabe’s hair, transfixed by Gabe licking his lips. Then Gabe wrapped his lips around his dick, and Tyson had to look up at the textured paint on the ceiling and think unsexy thoughts for a minute. The sight of Gabe on his knees, cheeks hollowed out and Tyson’s dick in his mouth, was more than overwhelming. Superwhelming, that was what this feeling was. 

“Oh my god,” Tyson said, tightening his grip on the soft strands of Gabe’s hair. “Oh, fuck, Gabe, your _mouth_ , holy -” Gabe did something with his tongue that made Tyson groan and clench his hands reflexively. Gabe moaned, too, when Tyson actually pulled his hair. Gabe sank down until Tyson could feel his dick hit the back of his throat. Tyson bit his lip, fighting to keep his hips still so he didn’t actually choke Gabe. He let Gabe control the pace, pulling Gabe’s hair again and slumping back against the counter when he felt him groan around his dick.

Meanwhile, Tyson had been talking pretty much non-stop. “I should’ve known you’d be good at this, you’re so fucking good at everything.” As if proving his point, Gabe did that thing with his tongue again and Tyson was pretty sure he saw stars. There was no way he was gonna last. “Holy fuck, you’re so hot.” He could only look at Gabe through half-closed eyes, because the sight of him flushed and perfect and palming himself through his jeans was too hot to handle. “Oh my god you should fuck me,” he gasped. “I bet you’d feel so good.” It was that thought that had him pulling Gabe’s hair in warning this time, Gabe pulling back and stroking him tight and hard until Tyson came so hard he actually blacked out for a second, gasping Gabe’s name. 

If he hadn’t been leaning against the counter behind him, he would’ve slid to the floor on top of Gabe. “Did you mean it?” Gabe asked, voice rough and hair wrecked. He was clearly hard in his jeans. Tyson didn’t think he could get it up again right now but he could definitely try for Gabe.

“What?” he asked, his brain still fuzzy.

“You want me to fuck you?” Gabe asked. His gaze was burning in its intensity as he looked up at him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyson said, reaching out for Gabe and almost going sprawling onto the floor. He’d forgotten his pants were still halfway down his thighs. They were both still dressed, but he needed to be naked right this instant, needed to feel Gabe pressed against him everywhere. He shoved his pants off there in the middle of his kitchen and kissed Gabe as he got back to his feet. 

“I’m not doing this on your kitchen floor,” Gabe said, smiling against his lips.

“Fine,” Tyson huffed, taking both of Gabe’s hands and pulling him into the hall and back to his bedroom. He dug through his bathroom drawer for condoms and lube, and he walked into his bedroom just in time to see Gabe pull his sweatshirt and t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his back. Tyson sucked in a deep breath and thought about taking a picture. Gabe looked over his shoulder at him as he pushed off his jeans. 

“You gonna keep your shirt on?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at him. Tyson dropped everything on the bed and scrambled to pull his shirt off, flinging it somewhere on the floor. He sprawled across his bed and waggled his eyebrows at Gabe, who crawled up the bed to kiss him deeply and thoroughly, rubbing his hips lazily against Tyson’s. 

Gabe worked him open slowly, leaving a scattering of marks across his chest as he did. His whole chest was red and sensitive from Gabe’s beard and he was actually getting hard again. “Come on,” Tyson said, kicking the back of Gabe’s leg. “I’m ready, come on, Gabe, please.” He was way past the point of being ashamed for begging; all he wanted was for Gabe to fuck him and maybe stick around for breakfast the next morning.

Gabe fumbled with the condom, his hands shaking, so Tyson rolled it on for him, his head dropping down to Tyson’s shoulder when he squeezed the base of his dick. Gabe pushed into him in one long steady thrust, watching Tyson’s face the whole time. He was right, Gabe did feel amazing, stretching him and filling him up like this. He was sick of being patient though - he grabbed Gabe’s ass and pushed his hips up to meet Gabe’s thrust. “Fuck me,” he groaned. Gabe didn’t need to be told twice, bracing himself on the headboard and fucking him hard. Tyson wrapped his legs around Gabe’s hips and held on. Gabe leaned down for a kiss that turned into Tyson biting his lips, both of them panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Tyson,” Gabe breathed. His hair hung down over his sweaty forehead and his lips were bitten red and swollen. Tyson had never seen anyone so gorgeous, had never in his life felt better than he did right now with Gabe inside and all around him. He could die happy now. “Tys, oh, fuck, I-”

“Yeah,” Tyson breathed, wrapping his hand around his own dick, hard and leaking, and timing his strokes with Gabe’s thrusts. “Yeah, Gabe, c’mon.” After a few more hard thrusts, Gabe came, groaning low in Tyson’s ear. He felt him shake through it, his arms giving out a second later. His fingers covered Tyson’s around his dick, twisting his wrist as he jacked him off. Tyson’s back arched off the mattress when he came a second time, both of them groaning when he clenched around Gabe’s softening dick. 

Gabe pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and chucking it toward the trash can in the corner. It was still kind of early to go to sleep; outside, the sun was starting to set behind the mountains, washing the sky in pinks and oranges. “You’re really staying?” Tyson asked, afraid to look at Gabe.

“Yeah,” Gabe said, dragging his fingers in random patterns along Tyson’s side. “I’m here for the weekend looking at apartments, and then hopefully I’ll be moving in at the end of the month.” He rolled onto his side suddenly, propping himself up on his elbow. “I was serious, you know,” he said.

“About what?” Tyson asked slowly, trying to remember everything they’d talked about that day.

“I really like you, Tys,” he said, so honest and hopeful that Tyson could barely breathe. 

“I - oh,” Tyson said dumbly. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Gabe grinned, so bright and happy Tyson had to pull him down to kiss him because he didn’t know what else to say. “This means you have to make me those cinnamon rolls whenever I want now,” Tyson said.

Gabe laughed. “I think I can handle that.” 

The next morning, Gabe was gone when Tyson woke up. He rolled over and mashed his face into the pillow, figuring he deserved this for doing the exact same thing to Gabe back in Paris. He probably had apartment viewings or something, didn’t have time to spend the morning lazily making out in Tyson’s bed and accidentally burning breakfast because they were too wrapped up in each other to notice. With a sigh, he dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen to make himself coffee, stopping in the doorway when he heard humming.

Gabe was standing at the stove wearing only his boxer briefs and the apron Nate had bought for him as a joke when Tyson signed both of them up for cooking lessons. He was humming to himself and making what looked like crêpes. Tyson didn’t even know he had all the ingredients to make crêpes in his apartment, but there was a jar of Nutella next to the stove and a few finished crêpes already on a plate.

“Wow,” Tyson said. “You really know how to spoil a guy, eh?”

Gabe turned around. “You’re not mad?” he asked.

“Oh yeah I’m so mad,” Tyson said, walking across the kitchen to Gabe. “How dare you go through my kitchen to make me breakfast. Who do you think you are?” Gabe smiled softly. When Tyson kissed him, he tasted like coffee; his hand was warm on Tyson’s hip and he pushed eagerly into Tyson’s grip when he slid his hands beneath the apron. 

Only two crêpes ended up getting burned because they were too busy making out to care. They still had plenty left for breakfast, light and sugary and the only way Tyson wanted to start his day from now on: bright morning sun shining in the windows, Gabe warm and shirtless and asking Tyson about what he should do first when he moved to Denver. 

“You have chocolate on your face,” Gabe said, gesturing unhelpfully at his own face.

Tyson frowned and licked his lips. “Did I get it?”

Gabe smiled. “No, it’s…” He reached out, holding Tyson’s jaw softly as he licked his cheek, just past the corner of his lips. It was hard to kiss someone when they were laughing at you, but Tyson figured if that was his biggest problem, his life was pretty sweet. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! come say hey on [tumblr](http://segwins.tumblr.com).


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